Roanapur's Bane, The Punisher (The Punisher x Black Lagoon)
by MontyTheMemeMan
Summary: After the fallout of a war spanning Roanapur, Frank Castle is called in by Dinah Madani to eliminate mass syndicates and crime families in Roanpur who've killed a US Ambassador. Castle takes the job, for a first, and Roanapur's first true bane comes to punish them.
1. Castle's Arrival, Ch1

**[Note - I do not own any of the canon characters presented in this fanfiction.  
[There will be a few OC's to line the plot a bit thicker  
[Character deaths are bound, do be prepared**

Roanapur's Bane, The Punisher

An unknown third group had come in and fought heavily with Hotel Moscow and the Hong Kong Triad. The Italians and Colombians were in support, driving the third party out after two months of heavy fighting.

Various gangs went unchecked for the time that Hotel Moscow and the Hong Kong Triad were recovering from the deep-seated wounds left by the fallout from this war. Crime, despite Roanapur being crime ridden as it is, began spreading rampantly. News broke out when a diplomat from the United States was killed on a temporary visit to Roanapur, resulting in world-wide attention. This attention attracted many sources. The CIA was one of them, and as a result, Dinah Madani, too, caught wind.

She knew of one man, and one man alone who would be able to sweep the streets of this rotten city, and not have a single regret afterwards.

Frank Castle.

**May 23rd, 2018**  
**2240**  
**Roanapur, Thailand**  
**Adju's Bar**

A small group of gang members, thugs, and other criminals had congregated here for a meeting. Small-time, but still on watch by many of the factions for their raging potential. It'd be a perfect start to a long list of casualties for a man, determined to rid Roanapur entirely of their infestation. Adju's had opened right in the middle of the two month war in Roanapur, being destroyed only once by miracle, and the owner having to rebuild it. Now, it was a hot spot for many to come and unwind. The Yellow Stripe tavern got shot up more - different characters showed up there.

No, Adju's bar is a place of common ground. Guns and drugs are ever persistent, but Adju is a formidable, tall man who's earned respect through his resolve. But, this place was safe no more.

"So, say, you got the drugs moved from Malaysia to the Philippines, yeah?"  
"Course I do, wasn't hard, those ferries will transport anything for a decent buck."  
The tall, broad-shouldered Hispanic gang leader took a drag from a cigar. In the center of their table, chips, cards, drugs and cash. Past time for the low lifers of Roanapur. Around him, four other men. A shorter, fat Hispanic man, and three slim white men with similar styles of haircut. Imposers, mainly. Running a small gang northward of military wannabe's. The Mexicans were from a cartel linked to the true Mexican cartel, their profession being pure vectors for the drug and human trafficking in and out of South Asia to South America.

One of the slim white men commented, cigarette in his mouth; "And our boys are on guard duty, whole way, makin' sure your shit gets in the hole." The cartel's leader nodded, glancing his way, but immediately back. "Yeah, and don't screw it up this time. One more time, and you're going to have a very bad day."

The slim man exhaled, glaring at the leader for a few moments, then back at the blank, wooden table. "Right... Let's get back to cards, tired of this." The man leaned over, grabbing the array of cards to deal. Stacking them, he shuffled, then began to deal to the four others on the table.

Outside, a taxi dropped off a man, The man paid in cash, leaving the driver the change to take for himself, departing with a mere nod. No words. The man wore a leather jacket, knee-high, and had it zipped to full up to his neck. Blue jeans, side sipper black combat boots, and a resting face of judgement as he looked at the shit-hole bar.

The man sighed, rubbing his hands together. The man started towards the bar, his hand slowly lowering the zipper on his jacket.

When he got to the door, the man slowly pushed it open, stepping in to the down-trodden bar. The men didn't stare at the man, didn't even look at him. The man by the name of Frank Castle was well-known, but nobody expected to see him, since knowledge of his livelihood was seldom spread due to his involvement in New York.

Everyone else, however, stared in a mixture of awe and fear. The skull emblem painted on his specialty vest, white on black, contrasting The Punisher's views on those in society.

He didn't speak, but soon enough, someone else did. "You..." Almost as quick, Frank drew an MP5A3 from his jacket, a 100 round drum magazine loaded in the magwell, and fired a single shot through the man's head.

Quickly, heads turned, and Castle had the floor.

He didn't say anything, just squeezed the trigger. Many of them didn't have time, or perhaps, didn't comprehend was about to happen. The men at the table went first, stitched across the chest with multiple 9MM round from the gun, and it swept to the rest of the bar, causing some to duck into cover, others to bleed out where they stood.

Castle stood there for seconds, dumping the magazine until it ran dry. Once it was dry, castle let it drop onto his chest, pulling an M67 fragmentation grenade from a pouch on his vest. Squeezing the catch, pulling the pin, he lobbed it into the bar and walked out.

Seconds later, the grenade erupted, ripping the small bar apart in a concussive, shredding blast.

It wouldn't take long for the whole town to hear of this.

Weeks went by after the explosion at Abdu's Bar. Nobody survived, and many of the other encounters the Punisher went through, not many survived them either. The ones who did ran off somewhere, didn't tell anyone. Gunfights, bloodshed, and restlessness were common in Roanapur, and The Punisher's thinning of the herd went unnoticed for the most part.

That was, until, he went after Hotel Moscow.


	2. Russian Eradication, Ch2

June 15th, 2018

The Punisher's van was parked nearby a known outpost of Anatoly Arkayvich, someone seated within Hotel Moscow as an officer. Within this location, a two story apartment complex gutted and turned into a drug house, and a small barracks for soldiers who occupied it. Arkayvich, Castle had tracked him here, saw him go in a few days ago, and knew he'd stay.

Intel from the last group of dirt-bags he killed told him so. He scouted it out, and was pleased with his discovery. Castle exited the van, driver's side, and walked to the back. Swinging both doors open, inside was the signature skull-painted vest, and numbers of weapons with matching ammunition.

Castle picked out his hand cannon first; A .44 Desert Eagle, slotting it into a thigh holster on his right side. Castle then fit the vest to his chest, securing it with four adjustable straps on each side of his abdomen. Secured, Castle strapped a holster on his left abdomen. In it, he placed a P226, a circular suppressor covering the muzzle to reduce its sound while he entered.

Finally, his primary. M4A1, outfitted with a 1x Holographic, suppressor, side laser, and an under-barrel masterkey shotgun. Castle quickly assorted his ammunition, rifle magazines on his sides, and both sets of pistol mags on his left thigh. Spare shotgun shells for his breaching tool were kept in a velcro pouch just above the rifle magazines on his right side.

Castle allowed the retention sling to cling the M4A1 to his back, and in its place, Castle grabbed a black duffel bag filled with various hardware. He closed the back door and set off to the alleyways, his right hand resting on the grip of his P226 should anyone cross him while he made his approach.

Anatoly Arkayvich.

The Russian sat in an office, reviewing orders sent from Balalaika about patrols in his area. A cup of tea sat next to him, courtesy of the locals. It was late, and it was keeping him up so he could file the last bit of work. They needed to distribute some more white to keep funding in check, which can be easily arranged.

Anatoly sighed, grabbing the cup of tea and taking a gentle, slow sip of the warm liquid, then set it back down. Many men at this time were either asleep or on watch, patrolling perimeter, monitoring cameras, or another task to protect the abundance of drugs and other merchandise they had there.

The reports of a new man in town swept over his mind for a moment, which were quickly dismissed. Vigilante or not, there would be little to step in the way of Hotel Moscow. As the thought passed his mind, a violent explosion rocked the parking area below, blowing in the glass window behind him and showering the room with glass. Instinctively, Anatoly curled onto his desk, wrapping his arms around his head and neck to protect them.

Anatoly was was shook awake, greeted with a fully-kitted, burly Russian over his body on the foot of his desk. "Anatoly! Are you okay?" The man, a young one compared to the more grizzled men on the force, a recruit when they separated. His name was Niko, cradled a AKM in his hands, Makarov at his hip. Anatoly nodded, jutting his waist as he stood, pushing the chair back. Anatoly extracted a Stetchkin APS from his desk, a shoulder stock already attached.

"What is it?" Anatoly asked, and Niko responded quickly. "The man is here, sir, he's already moved through security in building and is moving to the drugs!" Anatoly hissed - who is this man? How did he get through so fast? He checked his watch, it had been two minutes since the blast occurred. From the fire reports downstairs, he could only hear the AK's firing, meaning the man was using a suppressed weapon. "Quickly, send message to home, we may need reinforcements."

Niko nodded, running off. Anatoly strapped the Stetchkin to his chest, seperating the stock and leaving it on the desk. Opening another drawer, he removed an AKS-74U and magazine bandoleer. Strapping the five-magazine sling over his chest, three for the AK, two for the Stetchkin, Anatoly took his carbine and left the room in haste.

Frank Castle

Castle ran the STANAG into the magwell of his M4, taking the same hand and pressing the slide release, loading the first of thirty 5.56mm slugs into his rifle. Castle had already chewed through most of the first floor, their first line of security was reduced to bullet-ridden corpses by the time anyone really knew what had happened. Castle had the duffel bag strapped across his back, and a black ski mask over his face, the white skull painted over the face.

Punisher rounded the corner, M4 trained on the white, pasty door that set somewhat ajar. Just in the opening, a corpse was curled against the floor, three holes from Castle's M4A1 in his chest. Castle then moved left down a corridor, keeping his low stance, rifle trained in front of him. The corridor came to a dead-end, two doors on either side. One of them was labeled, one of them wasn't.

Castle trained his rifle on the unlabeled door - the armory. Two quick shots disabled the hinges, and a third took out the lock. Castle burst forward, driving his shoulder into the door and running through. Two men inside were ready, but Castle was faster. A burst from his rifle caught a man from chest to neck, pushing him against the wall. As the second moved to fire his AKM, Castle dropped his left shoulder into the ground, rolling and avoiding the man's initial burst.

Castle ended up prone on the ground, his rifle honed on the man, drilling two 5.56 slugs into his skull. The Punisher wasted no time, springing to his feet and turning around. Behind him was an iron-gated door, and within, a plethora of weaponry the Hotel had acquired in Roanapur. There was a lot, AK74's, AKS's, G3's, FAL's, and SVD's. The Punisher tugged on the retention strap for his M4A1, clinging it to his back.

Dropping his left shoulder, The Punisher removed the duffel bag from his back. Zipping it open, he removed a plastic explosive from the bag, priming it. The Punisher slid it through the bars. He had no interest in taking from these mobsters - he had his own arsenal. Castle lugged the duffel bag back onto his back, drawing his Desert Eagle and clutching it in both hands, leading out the armory with the muzzle forward.

Outside there were two men, facing away from him, towards where he used to be. The Punisher merely grinned as he squeezed the trigger - A .44 round whipping one of their skulls into the wall, chipping the second man and sending him sprawling on the ground. He maneuvered to the left side of the hall, punching another slug into the man's back as he struggled to make sense of what happened, damning him. Another Russian streamed from the corner, his rifle trained on where the first shot came from.

Castle fired first, punching a slug through the Russian's left eye, spinning him around and catapulting him into the center hallway. Castle quickly stepped to the right side as another man came around, The Punisher meeting him with a quick tap of .44 to his throat, sending him sprawling backwards into another man. The Punisher could see several bodies stacked and ready - but not ready for him.

Castle dumped the three remaining .44's into the line of bodies, caught off guard by their comrade's sudden dispatch, railing four of them to the ground. Castle ran the handgun into its holster with one hand, ripping the P226 from the other holster, moving to the opposite side of the hallway. Castle punched three rounds into the final man as he struggled to pull his rifle from the corpses in front of him, ending him.

The Punisher slipped into another side hallway, sliding the P226 into a the holster it came from. Castle swapped the magazine for his Desert Eagle, then tugged the M4A1 from under the duffel bag on his back. Leading with the muzzle, he quickly careened around the corner. Two Russians were rushing down the stairs, and with a spray of 5.56, Castle sent them tumbling down - riddled with bullets.

Up the stairs, Castle had his rifle trained on the railing above. Nobody was there, and as he ascended to the second level, he could hear shouting from within. They'd just noticed none of their communications gear could work. Castle had set a jammer from his vehicle before he left. Cut off all of their vehicles with an explosion, and was now cutting through their men with ease. He could tell of their skill, but The Punisher was still better than these old men in old uniforms.

Coming to the top floor, a man was transitioning from one hallway to another, then caught eye of Castle coming up. Castle drilled two slugs into his chest, dropping the man to the ground, blood seeping from his wounds. Castle moved left, placing the masterkey to the lock and firing it, leading momentum first, breaching into the room. A quick sweep found a man loading a bag - The Punisher punched three rounds into his back, sprawling blood and body over the white powder.

Castle moved through the room and went to the next door, leading back into the hallway. Outside, he could hear several men thundering through the passage. Castle moved himself towards the door, perching himself on the hinge side, rifle trained, just far away enough to have it up. He racked the masterkey, loading one of three remaining shotshells into the chamber.

He could see the shadow of someone stepping forward, unlocking the door, someone slowly stepping in. Castle stepped back and leveled his weapon with the shadow, letting the masterkey's 12 gauge buckshot burp - tearing through the wood and flesh of one man, and puncturing the second man. Racking the handle, Castle turned right, unleashing a swarm of 5.56 into the wall, bodies dropping over the sound of the suppressed slugs as he dumped the remainder of the magazine into the wall.

Castle quickly dropped the rifle over his chest, yanking the Desert Eagle from its holster and careening out the door. The man he shot through the initial breacher was still alive, clutching a large wound over his abdomen - one of many bloody patches on his body. The punisher dispatched one more, slugging him through the brain with a .44.

Castle heard the bark of an AK, and it chipped the wall above him, punching him once in the back, his vest catching the round. Whipping around and collapsing to a low crouch, a hot sear cut across the left side of his head. Castle moved right, slamming himself into the wall to avoid a follow up. He needed to be swift - being caught off guard was not ideal. Firing the .44, a round ripped through a burly Russian's crotch, spilling copious amounts of blood as the young, blonde Russian suddenly screamed in pain, dropping backwards onto the ground.

Castle stood up, and a man popped out, already spraying Castle's position with an AKS-74U. Castle ducked and rolled left - right back into the room he came from.

Anatoly Arkayvich

After he sprayed his carbine at the skull-laden man, forcing him to retreat, he grabbed Niko by the rig and dragged him back into the room, slamming the door shut behind him. Niko grabbed the wide wound with tight fists, his screams becoming soundless as he griped at the pain. Anatoly grabbed Niko's face, staring into his pained eyes with an angry expression. "No... Niko, no... By god, please, no!" Niko tried saying something, but too much blood had come from the ruptured femoral artery in his crotch, bleeding him out. The big Niko slumped in Anatoly's arms.

Anatoly ripped the Stetchkin from his holster and screamed loudly, bursting through his door and into the room beside it, spraying his machine pistol wildly through the various desks, the body, and the bag. Anatoly realized nobody was there, the magazine emptying and the Stetchkin locking open. He turned to leave, seeing a pair of white skulls staring at him from the corner.

Frank Castle

The Punisher watched as the man emptied his weapon, drawing his P226 up, focusing on the man's knee. When he turned around, the expression of shock said it all. The Punisher quickly tapped the trigger, taking out his right knee, causing the man to crash down. A second shot punctured his left shoulder, forcibly releasing the auto-pistol from Anatoly's hands. Castle burst forward as Anatoly reconfigured, or attempted to, shoving his boot directly into Anatoly's face and cracking his head off a desk.

Anatoly gazed into the sky, his mind cleared. Castle removed two sets of tourniquets, quickly cranking them down on the man's arm and thigh, stopping the bleeding. Taking rope, he tied the man's hands and feet together in a hogtie before he removed the rest of the items from his bag. The man was suitably disabled - and Castle went to setting the rest of the plastic explosives throughout the second floor. On return, Anatoly had propped himself up against a desk, eyeing the masked Punisher with nothing but anger.

Castle moved close and crouched down in front of the angered ruskie, cocking his head, grinning under the skull ski mask he wore. Quickly, Castle pulled a knife from a scabbard on his shoulder, pressing it to Anatoly's chest. "You talk, you live. You stay quiet, I start cutting, understand?"

The Russian man gave a glare, but understood exactly what Castle was saying. Castle flashed a grin, retracting the blade a few inches. "Good. Talk."


	3. A Trouble Call, Ch3

June 16th, 2018.

Balalaika

The tall, imposing Russian woman had her typical drape - Russian Paratrooper jacket slung around her shoulders, buttoned at the collar around her neck. In front of her one of her Lieutenants stood, briefing her on the situation of Anatoly's outpost. "Ma'am, all of Anatoly's men were killed, half of the stockpile stolen, and the rest were destroyed with the building." Balalaika drew a long drag from her cigar, blowing it into the air above her. "This is unacceptable.. How could one man take all of Anatoly's unit out?" The Lieutenant cleared his throat - "Well, ma'am, there is a possible culprit, but he's never acted against us, until now." He offered a file to Balalaika, who took it and opened it. She cocked her head, mildly confused. "Frank Castle? What is The Punisher doing in Roanapur?"

The Lieutenant shook his head. "I don't know Kapitan, but it can't be good." Balalaika nodded, tossing the file on the desk. "Damn right. Call Dutch, I'll be employing his services for this one. Set a bounty for him. Twenty thousand." The Lieutenant nodded- "Yes ma'am," Then left the room. Balalaika sat at her desk, grabbing her desk phone and keying a few numbers.

Lagoon Company

"What a drag-" Revy sneered, her legs propped up and crossed on the table where Rock and Benny played cards. "You suck, Benny. Like, really fucking suck." Rock laughed, a cigarette tucked in the corner of his mouth. "Ah, come on Revy. He's gotten a bit better." Benny offered a meek grin, shrugging. "Hey, I'm just a computer guy, okay?" Dutch approached, glaring at the three. All of them had a cigarette, an ash tray, and something to drink nearby. Discarded pizza was on the floor, and weapons left disassembled were across several tables. Dutch snapped his fingers, getting their attention.

"We have a new contract. Big one. Twenty K each." Revy shot up, eyes filled with some kind of vicious hunger. "Holy shit! What is it?" Dutch presented a photo. Rock and Benny could feel their stomachs twisting, and Revy even seemed intimidated - it was security footage Balalaika had sent of Frank Castle tearing through guards. This was a still of his flank and ambush on the second floor. "Frank Castle... Also known as-" Dutch was cut off by Revy - "The fuckin' Punisher."

Dutch nodded. "That's right. Punisher here took out an entire station of Balalaika's men, including Anatoly Arkayvich, then burnt the place to the ground." Dutch folded the picture and tossed it in the trash. Rock seemed somewhat relieved not to see the picture anymore, slouching in place. As did Benny, who put out his cigarette and took a long swig of whiskey. Revy sat in disbelief, blinking at Dutch.

"Her wires are on speed dial, so when he strikes next, we're gonna roll up and take care of him. We'll have help. Shenhua, Eda, Sawyer and uh... Lotton." Revy scoffed. "So we got chinglish, church bitch, the mute and the weirdo. This is gonna go so damn well." Dutch nodded. "Just don't get yourselves killed. Don't need you dying on my watch, got it?"

Revy offered a nod- "Don't worry Dutch, we'll kill his ass." Rock meekly chuckled, "Yeah, and I'll talk his ears off!" Benny shrugged, returning to his hand of cards. Dutch left the room, Revy slumping back into the couch - "Hell, man... The Punisher... Shit."


	4. Battle for Goof Fest Part 1, Ch4

Frank Castle, The Punisher

June 24th, 2018

Castle loaded the magazine on his G36C and racked a round in the chamber. Same load-out otherwise - Desert Eagle and P226. Combat knife on his right calf, left thigh, and a backup on the backside of his waist. His vest was freshly adorned, new paint, covering the wounds of the past. Castle draped a long trench coat over himself and moved out the back of his van, stepping into the pavement.

Two stories up, a man with binoculars; Boris, held a radio with his other hand. "Vladimir, we've got a positive ID. Send them in."

Castle entered the back door of the spot. It was poor Jackpot's club. Anatoly likely told him all the juicy details - illegal pornography, human trafficking, gun running, drugs, the works. Boris had to admit, this Castle man was good at his job. Poor Anatoly, too, he thought. Retracting his binoculars, Boris shoved the radio into his jacket pocket and lifted an Ak-74 from the wall.

There was about to be a bloodbath in the Goof Fest Strip Club.

Castle extracted his suppressed P226, pushing open the rear door. A man was standing there, back facing him, not quite paying attention. There was some kind of shotgun in his hands - pump action, twelve gauge. Castle had all he needed to know, tapping the trigger of his handgun and sending a sub-sonic nine by nineteen through his skull. Bursting into the room as the body fell to the ground, a second man clamored to his feet, racking a MAC-10 for duty. The Punisher never allowed him to react after that, drilling two rounds into his skull with silent, deadly precision.

The room was a guard break room, it looked. Nothing but some spare drugs, magazines, and a computer with pornography playing on it. Progressing into the next room, it was processing. Drug monkeys were sorting the merchandise for use by the customers of this rotten night club. Castle identified three guards, patrolling the room on the far end. One nearby. Using brief taps, Castle drilled one round in each skull. The processors looked around, shocked, in panic. Castle opened his mouth, not quite barking - "Leave now."

The assorted workers, either forced into labor, or volunteered unknown to Castle looked at him. They scattered almost immediately, gunning for the exit that The Punisher stepped out from.

The first person rounded the corner, seeing a group of men and women stacked up on the door. First man on the right - big, black, and holding a Remington Magnum pump action shotgun had his left index pressed to his lips. Across from him, a dual-Beretta wielding Chinese-american, grin cocked threateningly on her face, wearing nothing but her crop top, jean shorts, and leather chest rig. Behind her was Sawyer and Shenhua. Behind Dutch, the big man was Lotton and Eda. Behind Eda and Shenhua were two soldiers of Hotel Moscow - courtesy of Boris. The girl yelped at the sight of them - almost shrieking before her cries were silenced by Dutch grabbing her and yanking her from the doorway.

The Punisher heard someone scream, turning around to see the assorted workers bolting out - but faster than before. Alerting someone to his presence, perhaps. Not good. This meant The Punisher was now cornered in a night club full of civilians. He kept his P226 trained on the door, waiting...

Behind him, the club door slammed open and in walked a Moscow hard-man. Castle whipped around and punched a trio of rounds. One hit the chest carrier, the second his shoulder, and the third drilled into the Russian's skull. Almost in sync, Dutch and Revy bolted into the back, Revy drilling round after round from both handguns at Castle's location, Dutch firing a twelve gauge shot-shell into the room.

The Punisher heard the snaps of the gunshots whizzing by his head, then the buckshot tearing into the back of his vest, spinning him around and throwing him on the deck. He could hear more Russians storming from the club, ready to enter, along with whoever else was moving from the back. Castle took his left and right, gripping a smoke grenade in one hand and a concussion in the other. Priming both, Castle chucked them into the center of the room, turning and crawling under the vast amounts of distribution tables while both crews flooded in.

Revy and Dutch swept through the room with the Russians, guns raised. There were three rows of distribution tables. One for crack, one for weed, and another for pornography. Each was built from plywood, three feet tall, and could easily house someone hiding underneath them, should someone not expect one to be crouched under one. Moments after they rushed in, Revy cursed - "Where the fuck did he go?!"

Dutch shook his head, not dropping his guard as Lotton and Sawyer began rounding one end, Shenhua and Eda the other. Revy groaned in frustration, dropping her handguns for a moment to complain. Before she could make a noise, a, excruciatingly loud boom tore through her ears, blowing something inside her head and causing an intense pain to ripple through her upper body. Vision was clouded as Revy tripped over her own feet, head cracking off one of the tables, sending her sprawling to the floor. Her vision began to fill with black as the smoke ebbed from one grenade.

They thought they had The Punisher cornered - they were wrong.

Castle made a mental note. These Russians are more up to date than he thought. Plate carriers weren't a trend in the seventies, so they've updated their arsenal from the old stuff. That was fine. The Punisher can compensate. To withstand the concussive blow, Castle had plugged his ears, opened his mouth, then closed his eyes. All he needed was a bit of chance-work - something he rarely relied on. But it played in his favor.

Rolling out from his spot, Castle stood up to see men and women alike stumbling around like trucks had hit them all. The Punisher brought his G36C to his shoulder and squeezed the trigger in a full-auto spray of fury, the sound of his bellowing yell accompanying the hail of lead. He scythed through multiple targets - Russians falling down from his left, running out before he could get to the ones in the center. There were a lot of bodies that had run here to kill him.

Good.

The Punisher used his off hand to grab a fresh magazine, hitting the paddle catch to loosen the mag, traveling down the back spine and kicking the buttplate of the mag to flick it out. Punching the magazine into the open magwell, Castle went up and racked the cocking handle, loading the first of thirty slugs. In that time, he hadn't tracked the man in the trench coat to his right - wielding one of his two C96 handguns.

Lotton learned one too many times not to make his entrances, but he couldn't help it. Even disoriented, the man had an iron will to be the most cool and edgy guy on the field. "Time to be Punished, Punisher!"

Castle whipped his head right to turn, but Lotton fired one of his C96's by then - almost for the first time. The round punched through the center of Castle's G36C. The Punisher quickly stepped to the right, preventing Lotton from getting a bead on him for a follow up. The Punisher's right hand crossed over his skull-emblazoned chest and ripped the Desert Eagle from its holster, placing a shot from his hip and slamming Lotton in the chest, blasting him backwards into a wall.

Hastily, Castle worked his left hand and pulled the G36C off his body, the retention strap being the biggest pain in the ass. Around the corner came a screaming chainsaw - some short girl named Sawyer swinging it wildly. The Punisher back stepped, and as Sawyer swung it at Castle's chest again, he had a grip of the gun's stock and swung it to intercept. The chain of the tool bucked on the polymer body of the G36C, shredding the outside and sending plastic shards in every which way.

Sawyer's face was attacked, but the gun was knocked from Castle's hand, and Sawyer was left with plastic pieces in her face. The Punisher, however, was on his heels. She knew this, bolting forward with another attack. Her chainsaw punched into Castle's armored chest, the chain eating away at his vest, kicking up and searing a hot wound over his left cheek.

The Punisher screamed out - a cry between anger and pain. Castle bucked backwards as the crack of a handgun ripped through the room, impacting just left of his head. He dropped to the ground, planting his back to the deck as Sawyer swept her chainsaw at his head - missing horrifically. It would be her last mistake, The Punisher decided.

Tapping the trigger of his Desert Eagle twice, Castle punched two fifty caliber rounds through Sawyer's small torso, her body contorting and twisting by two high-caliber rounds ripping through her body. Dropping to the ground, her low gasps indicated the rounds ripped through her lungs - blood seeped through both wounds and ebbed from her mouth.

The room was filling with smoke, and Castle could hear more people chattering about, getting up, barely recovered but still willing to kill Castle. Too bad they'd never have a clue where he was.

Revy could feel her head pounding. She heard a gunshot - Sawyer's chainsaw buzzing through the air, another gunshot, then two gunshots. Opening her eyes beared nothing - just black smoke billowing in front of her. The last ebbs of Sawyer's chainsaw suddenly cut out after those two gunshots - and they were loud. Desert Eagle... Just like old sis, eh? Revy tried forcing a laugh, but could hardly get to her feet. The concussion grenade had nearly swept her off her feet - exploding next to her. She couldn't even see Dutch. She couldn't see her arms, or anything.. Was she dead? Did the fuckin' Punisher kill her? Fuck that.

Revy, through some mannerism of willpower and sheer adrenaline pushed herself to a knee. Beside her was a Cutlass. Revy grasped it, pulling it to her waist, using her left hand to balance as she held back a score of vomit. A single, booming gunshot was heard again. Then another. Then another. Something was near her left, and she looked up..

A white skull was looking back down at her, and the face of a man too angry for words. Blood streamed down the left side of his face, and the skull on his chest was chewed - contorted and shredded. The fact he was standing here... Means...

Revy hissed as she tried standing, glaring at Castle - "You.. Fucking fuck... You killed Sawyer... Fuck you..."

The Punisher scoffed, bringing his Desert Eagle level with Revy's head.

So, this was it. Death. Revy wouldn't be able to get him this time. She could feel blood streaming down her face. She must've smacked her head hard against the floor or one of the lines. Likely a concussion - perhaps something worse. Whatever. She was dead meat now, wasn't she?

Revy stared up at Castle as he was getting ready to execute her.. To Punish her, and to send her straight to hell.


	5. Battle for Goof Fest Part 2, Ch5

All Dutch could hear after the concussion grenade went off was shooting and screaming. One long, staccato spray of gunfire followed by two shots, Sawyer's chainsaw, another gunshot, still the chainsaw... Then two more shots. The chainsaw stopped immediately after. Dutch put the numbers through his head, calculating that Sawyer was probably dead. No time, he told himself. Castle was executing one downed Russian after another. He found himself coming to a knee, grasping his shotgun.

Blood was pooling from his mouth. Must've busted his face on something - bit his tongue. He couldn't talk, could barely hear, save for the loud stuff. Looking up, Dutch saw the flash of Castle's gun executing another Russian who was too resilient for his own good. Then, he stepped forward, placing his gun to Revy's head as she cursed.

"You.. Fucking fuck... You killed Sawyer... Fuck you..."

No. He won't lose someone of his crew. Castle couldn't see Dutch in this smoke right now. 'Lucky me', Dutch thought as he pulled the shotgun to his shoulder, aiming center-mass at Castle's chest. The skull looked mutilated at this angle - granted, Dutch was looking at him through pained eyes...

Revy expected the bang to be from the handgun in her face - the flash of the Desert Eagle to burn her eyes milliseconds before the contents of her skull were to be emptied on the cold, hard floor. But that didn't happen. Instead, the roar from a shotgun hit Castle in the chest, sending him tumbling back into one of the distribution tables, knocking over some product.

Castle stumbled through the smoke, moving towards the back entrance.

The Punisher heaved a strained breath as he emerged into the club. People were either running or frozen cold at the sight of him. The skull was mangled by a chainsaw and shotgun, the left side of his face streamed blood down his body. Removing a fresh magazine from his vest, Castle swapped the old one, dropping it on the ground. Then, people ran.

Far in the back, Castle could see the man responsible for this club, still sitting there with guards ushering him to move. They caught The Punisher's eye too late, and he made them pay. With two trigger pulls, The Punisher punched a hole in each hardmans' skull, flinging their corpses onto the couches next to Jackpot. Nearing, Castle loomed over the man, high off some mixture of different drugs, who stared back in fear. The Punisher could almost smell the piss pouring from his pants...

"Please, man.. Don't do-"

Jackpot was cut off as The Punisher raised his Desert Eagle and punched a round into Jackpot's skull, cracking it nearly in two and flinging the innards about the semi circular seating. Behind him, Castle could hear the trotting of boots coming from the back...

Kneeling down, Castle lifted both of the guards' guns off the ground - two Uzi sub-machine guns, leveling with the wide-open back entrance. The Punisher saw figures exiting. Russians, led by a nun and Chinese woman. Castle was spotted almost instantly, but he already had them in his eye.

Squeezing both triggers, the Uzi combo chattered, punching nine millimeter slugs into the Russians bodies, tearing through the legs, arms, and clipping through the Chinese woman's chest while the Nun was clipped in the skull. Bodies laid flat as the barrage of fire was accompanied by The Punisher's angry bellow.

Moments passed and both sub-machine guns ran dry. Castle dropped them and ripped his Desert Eagle from its holster once again, punching rounds into the darkness that swirled behind the squirming bodies he laid in front.

The Desert Eagle's slide locked back. The Punisher ripped a fresh mag from his vest, thumbing the release, dropping the old. Slamming the new in, Castle flicked the slide release with his off hand and moved left, his form low, sights trained on the back entrance, his back to the nearest wall.

As Castle was nearing the front entrance, a trio of chinamen burst in, gunning towards the back. Hong Kong Triad. Castle tapped the Desert Eagle, punching fist-sized holes through their heads. A fourth man rounded the corner, his first instinct to kick the Desert Eagle.

The hard-hitting hand cannon was flung from Castle's hand. The Punisher lurched forward, going low, burying his shoulder into the hardman's waist, scooping his legs from under him and driving the hardman into the floor.

The Punisher wrapped his right hand around the man's sub-gun, taking the knife off his left waist and ripping it from the sheathe. Stabbing it down at the man's throat, the hardman brought his right forearm up and blocked the hit, blade's point coming within inches of his eye. Castle ripped the knife back, cutting deep into the man's forearm. Using the moment, Castle shoved his right fist into the hardmans' jaw, following it up by sinking his knife into the hardman's throat.

The Punisher could hear footsteps behind him, getting ready to come through the entrance. Grabbing the Triad gunners' M12S, he spun around on a knee and squeezed the trigger. As the Hong Kong Triad's men sped through the door, a storm of nine millimeter shredded them.

The Punisher had ample time, grabbing two of the M12S magazines from the dead man's rig, placing them in his own, and replacing the current magazine with a third. Attaching the sling to his torso, Castle pulled the handgun, a Browning Hi Power. Putting it in his thigh holster, Castle stood up and pulled the M12S up to his sightline.

Front door was pouring in a third party. Hong Kong Triad, second to Hotel Moscow. So, Castle thought, they were working together. Like some sort of coalition. Castle thought of his van - the mounted machine gun in the back. Okay, that was the plan.

Facing the back entrance, the smoke was wafting out. Pulling an M67 fragmentation grenade, The Punisher pulled the pin, primed the catch, then chucked it to the front door. He bolted towards the rear, arriving as the front entrance erupted in an explosion, killing anyone caught in the blast.

Castle stepped over the bodies he'd dropped, examining them momentarily as he passed. The Chinese woman and the nun were still stirring. He'd leave them, for now. Right now, Castle had other plans.

Moving through the rear, all he saw were the bodies he had dropped. The big black man was gone, the scantily clad one, man in the trench coat, and a couple Russians he counted out were gone, too. Peering to his right, The Punisher noted the body of chainsaw girl was still there, life gone from her eyes, body motionless and empty, a large pool of blood surrounding the corpse.

The Punisher burst out the back door, M12S ready. A blood trail went left, Castle's van was to the right.

Boris heard the slaughterhouse unfolding from where he was sitting. Saw as people rushed out, heard the gunfire... Then the explosion rocked the front of the building. Boris kept his watchful eye, Ak-74 in his hand. In the back, Boris saw Castle, running into the alley he came from. Boris rose his AK, switching the rifle's firing mode to semi automatic.

Castle heard a gunshot, then felt a searing pain coarse through his right thigh. He collapsed for a moment, stumbled to his feet, limping off the bad leg. A second crack, punching through his right arm, forcing him to drop the gun. The M12S clung to Castle's chest from the sling. At this point, Castle was at the corner, and he threw himself around it.

Whoever that was can't see him anymore... Good.

The Punisher made it to his van, tumbling into the back and quickly ripping open his medical kit within. Tourniquet one, around the thigh, number two around the arm. What an irony, really. Whoever that was must've seen what he did to Anatoly.

Boris saw The Punisher hobble around the corner, lowering his rifle. All he could think of now was how he'd bleed like Anatoly did. A Russian never forgets something like that. Boris keyed his radio, "Vladimir, take your team and move into the back street behind Goof Fest."

A Russian team, lead by Vladimir Pakirov moved through the alley thirty seconds after the call was made. No signs of Castle leaving were known, and as far as they were concerned, he was cornered and dying inside that van. Vladimir at the lead, he pointed with his AKs-74u, ten men with him, moving low, smooth, and fast.

They rounded the corner and came to the van. The back was shut, of course, and a blood trail was present from where Boris' accurately placed a gunshot to the thigh. Moving around the van, the men stayed several feet away.

Inside, they heard something.

But by then, it was too late.

As they neared the van, the doors whipped open, a flash-bang following it, then it shut just as fast. The banger erupted, blinding the team's sight and disorienting them. The doors flung open again - Frank Castle, The Punisher was manning a fifty caliber M2HB heavy machine gun set up on a tripod in the back of his van.

The heavy chug of the gun tore into the men, Vladimir and three others were cut completely in half, guts spilling on the ground as their bodies were perforated and torn. The others had whole chunks torn through their vests, legs, heads, and other appendages.

Six seconds later, The Punisher had laid waste to the team by way of fifty caliber firepower. Their bodies lay strewn like macabre decorations on the street - blood, bone and gristle spotting every inch where their corpses would be.

Castle slammed the door shut, pulled himself into the drivers' seat and primed the ignition.

Seconds later, he was off, returning to wherever he had come from.


	6. Aftermath, Ch6

Balalaika lit a cigarette again.

It didn't feel like years, months, or days since blood was again at her feet. It felt like the other hour she was knee-deep in Afghanistan, bodies of her comrades around her, the eyes of the ones still-living watching for her every command. Boris, her right-hand man was there from the start. His most trusted men - Anatoly and Vladimir were now dead.

Balalaika saw the bodies and grimaced. Scythed in two by heavy firepower - the scent and sight all too familiar to the war-born woman of Hotel Moscow. The club reminded her of the routing of the terrorists who took hold months ago, the bodies strewn about the entire strip, the ones still living being sanctioned off - poor Vladimir, poor Eda, poor Shenhua, poor Sawyer, poor Jackpot.

Balalaika didn't groom her thoughts much longer, a car pulling behind her, door swinging open. Emerged was the handsome, yet aged Chang, head of the Hong Kong Triad's branch in Roanapur. A grin was standard on the man, his custom swagger accentuating each step as he approached Balalaika's side.

Balalaika turned, puffing grey smoke into the air as Chang offered a nod. "Miss Balalaika." Balalaika offered one back, turning back to the corpses, the dirty cops and cleaners milling about the body bags, the dirty investigators writing their dirty reports - all funded by The Triad or Hotel Moscow. Of course, the Italians and Colombians had their hands in this, but they were considerable subsidiaries compared to Hotel Moscow and The Triad.

"Baby Chang," She remarked, "It's been a long day." Chang nodded in response, taking his own cigarette out. "Damn right, Fry Face. It's been one hell of a day." From behind, Boris approached, his Ak slung over his shoulder, attached to the back by use of retention strap. He saluted smartly, and Balalaika glanced back as Boris spoke.

"Kapitan." Balalaika nodded, having Boris drop the salute. "Boris."

Boris cleared his throat, nodding to Chang as he approached Balalaika's side. "Over all we have twenty three casualties, not including Chang's men. Including his, we have thirty one." Balalaika dismissed with a wave and flick of her cigarette. "Even when we had him cornered, Castle still managed to get the upper hand."

Chang chuckled. "I gotta hand it to this guy - he's impressed me every single time he shows up. First, all of those little gangs by the docks, then the base... And now here." Chang clapped his hands together once, "He's living up to his name."

Balalaika didn't share the casual demeanor of Chang, scoffing at his evaluation. "We've lost brothers to the cause, Chang, and brothers are seldom replaced." Balalaika took a long drag, extracting cancer from the cigarette, then breathing out, the grey accompanying her exhale.

"Boris. See what Ronnie Jaws and Abrego can hire from the market while we... Reassess our situation." She took another drag, huffing it out before speaking once again, "Contact Sister Yolanda... We must acquire more equipment to deal with this Punisher."

Boris glanced between her and Chang, to which Chang responded with a playful wink to Boris. Balalaika spoke once more, looking at the floor. "The project Anatoly was working on - put it into effect. That is all."

Chang nodded, turning one-eighty and facing his vehicle, waving with his right. "In that case, I'll see what I can pull from my bag of tricks, Fry-Face. Have a good one." Balalaika nodded, noting his departure. "To you as well, Chang."

Boris was still standing at parade rest, watching Balalaika from the corner of his eye, but focused on the bodies. So many Boris knew like brothers for years on end. He'd cleared machine gun nests, survived mortar barrages, and cleaned whole Muj' trenches with these men. To see them slaughtered in front of him truly broke his heart - and enraged him. Boris was, however, a very controlled and calm man by nature.

He'd shape his rage into a weapon, but not aloud through his mouth, by way a trio of rounds screaming out his AK. Yes, Boris concluded, The Punisher would pay. This was two too many times.

* * *

Frank Castle, The Punisher

5.45x39

The Americans back in the day called it the 'Poison Bullet'. The round was designed to be aft-heavy, and once it entered the body, the wound trajectory was impossible to predict. It'd tailspin, mauling the flesh and whatever organs got in its way. Those Russians must've had a whole stockpile of them from the dirty sands of Afghanistan - old bastards. Whoever shot The Punisher must've seen his handiwork on Anatoly and dealt it back to Castle.

He considered the irony for a few seconds, standing in front of a half-shattered mirror in his hole. His hole, not dissimilar from the one him and Micro had two years ago. This one was also a basement, but to an abandoned warehouse complex on the rim of Roanapur. It worked for what Castle was looking for.

The Punisher had two bullet holes from the Poison Bullet in his arm and thigh. Lucky him - that marksman could've ended it then and there. But he didn't, assuming it was a he. Castle's heard from his limited time in Roanapur that the _women_ were the deadliest ones.

That chainsaw girl was the only one who gave The Punisher some routing, so perhaps that's correct. Blood was wet down his face - a bandage with rough, but suitable stitching underneath covering half his head. Castle cut a hole for his eye, just so he could stare at himself - angry, ready to kill.

_Am I actually angry? Or am I just... This?_

These questions bore weakness to his mindset - kill them all, and Castle wrought them from his mind as he took sterilized tweezers to his thigh, pushing them deep into the wound within. Castle pulled the bullet out, clenching his teeth, groaning, the lead round eventually being pulled, blood coating the object, the pliers, and his fingers.

Some excess dripped onto the floor - but that was expected. Castle brought the bullet to his eye-line, examining it slowly, rotating it around as the blood continued to pool. _That's a hell of a bullet_, Castle thought. He almost respected the Russians. They designed a fast, light bullet capable of destroying whatever soft target was unfortunate enough to find itself in the sights of a well-manned, modern Kalash rifle.

The Punisher dropped it into the pan and grabbed a needle, intent on sewing the wound shut. Using the off hand, Castle grabbed a shard of mirror and placed it on the chair he set behind him. The sight was as uneventful as most entry wounds - small, blood coming out, the guy was likely screaming to some degree. But The Punisher only screamed as he killed men, sinking knives into their necks or spraying them down with storms of lead.

Castle began the stitching - and just once, did he allow himself to scream. A release besides anger? Perhaps. Stitching one's own thigh tended to do this to a man.

The stitch-work was done. Castle dropped the surgical tools back into their allocated spots in his medical kit - he'd sanitize them later. One arm, one leg, and one on the face. Castle didn't even get his shit kicked in by some guy in a red jumpsuit, an old friend gone rotten, or some big Russian gym-rat. Well, that's not true. His arms and torso were fairly bruised from the thrashing he got from the big man's shotgun.

One to the back, one to the chest. Castle's chest _hurt_, and Castle using that term was no meager statement. He did an assessment, as per his training, only discovering the significant bruising - and the fact his vest was fucked. The Punisher had his replacements lined up. He came prepared, of course, as he always does.

First things first, thought Castle as he hobbled from the bathroom, moving to his open bedroom-armory he set up in the basement of the warehouse. Above was his van, parked under a tarp - an otherwise unremarkable location. The room had some light machinery, a table for metalworking, and an entire tool set for general purposes.

Castle, of course, put it to work modifying and tweaking anything possible to fit his role. Sharpening knives, hand-loading rounds, machining auto-sears, making silencers, fabricating anything he needed - it was a perfect base of operations for Castle.

To his right was the gun wall - infamous to him while selecting his piece for the job - his tool of the trade. Castle lost three pieces of kit - no, four pieces of kit. A G36C, a P226, a fifty-cal Desert Eagle, and one of his combat knives. However, Castle gained two additions. An under-appreciated Italian sub-gun, The M12S, and a classic Browning Hi-Power.

Castle would thread the barrels later - if the underworld hadn't done so already, for suppressor use. They'd be perfect for what he was planning next. Castle was grooming the wall with his eyes, searching for a tool just in case he needed to up the firepower. Ah - the Benelli M3 shotgun. Twelve gauge, semi-automatic, and capable of loading magnum rounds.

Removing it from the wall, Castle collapsed the custom folding stock and laid it on his workbench. Taking a seat, Castle pulled the phone he uses. There were serious questions that need answering - like who the hell were half these people? What happened in Roanapur twenty years ago that's churned out these die-hard scum?

Everything felt calculated against Castle. They knew he'd strike somewhere like Goof Fest next - or they just had people ready to move at any sight of him. Regardless of the cause, Castle needed more information.

It bugged his ever-calculative mind how these people were to do this. The old men of Hotel Moscow were Russian military - Afghan vets, but Castle didn't know the extent. So, he decided to find out. Thumbing his cellular, the man redialed a phone number that had called him over a month ago to route these men from Roanapur.

The phone number to Agent Dinah Madani.

* * *

Rock's been tapping his feet all morning, fingers slowly and meticulously weaving between one another with machine repetition. Rock was thinking, deep in his mind for hours. Revy saw the light side of him drown in darkness months ago when terrorists flooded Roanapur. Rock single-handedly planned their annihilation - _he's doing the same here._

Revy and Dutch have wounds. A concussion for Revy - Dutch a chipped tooth and bit tongue. Benny sat in silence, cigarette in the corner of his mouth. He puffed on it every now and then. In the hostpital cots nearby were Shenhua and Eda, recovering from the wounds they sustained in battle.

Lotton the Wizard was in attendance, sitting in characteristic fashion, legs crossed and arms folded. He almost glanced up, looking for Sawyer, only to not find her there. Right, he reminded himself. '_She's dead_'. Lotton shook the thought from his head, taking a few moments to actually view the room around him.

Dutch was sitting on a chair next to Rock, gently rubbing his jaw, grunting at his movements. Dutch's old body was catching up to him, now, and that concussion grenade kicked his ass. It didn't help he ate concrete floor afterwards. Revy was just grumbling, staring at Shenhua and Eda from her own rack.

"This is some fuckin' bullshit," She'd start. Dutch would shoot her a look, shaking his head. "Not now, Revy. We know."

It was like that multiple times, but each time they spoke, Lotton still looked up to see if her attempts at conversation went anywhere. They never did. Until-

_"I got it."_

The words came from Rock, and all eyes were on him. Rock sat up in his chair, his hands folded in his lap, a grin akin to sin spread across his face. As previously mentioned, Rock had given way to the darkness of Roanapur in recent times - much to the detriment of his and Revy's relationship, along with Dutch's view - Chang's view - and nearly every one else's view of Roanapur's altar boy.

But nobody could complain, could they? He was one of the few that organized the annihilation of the terrorists. Perhaps the phosgene gas was too much, but, who cares?

So, all eyes on Rock, he began to explain bits and pieces of his malicious plan - in stark and horrifying detail to the rest of the crew members. Lotton had to remove his glasses for this one, as the audacity of Rock began to shock even him - the coolest of cool.

* * *

Castle had picked up the phone, and The Punisher put it down.

Dinah Madani had briefed him via a CIA dossier that went in-depth with the happenings of Roanapur in the mid to late 1990's. He learned quite thoroughly, indeed. The Punisher rose from his seat, turning to view his ensemble of weapons behind him. He'd need time to heal, a week, perhaps more, and lay low enough to not be noticed.

These fresh scars needed time.

The Punisher picked up a knife, studying its gleaming edge. He'd give himself three days, and after that time, The Punisher would act on his next course of righteous slaughter. But now he knew the players, knew the game, and knows how to take down this Empire of hellions and deviants.

Starting with the suppliers.

They fake god's disciples. So perhaps, The Punisher figured as he laid a new vest and template on his workbench - _he'd bestow them unto god, and god would banish them to hell._


	7. Rip-Off Church, Ch7

Frank Castle's wounds had not completely healed, but that wasn't the matter. He had all he needed. The van was loaded with a special tool for contingency. A contingency he now expected. The full briefing Dinah delivered allowed Castle information he'd use to destroy these scum. The Punisher has slain small targets - it's time for some big ones.

* * *

Rock spent the past two nights researching as much as he could on The Punisher. He found several articles on his dismemberment of the Kitchen Irish, Dogs of Hell, and Mexican Cartel. Recent stories were less reliable, based off of behavior patterns rather than actual findings.

But there's a pattern nonetheless. He'd take out the supplies once he knew the game. Anatoly's weapon locker was a start, then Goof Fest for their drug trade, now for the weapon importation and other goods - The Rip Off Church.

Bleed them out, and when they went to heal, take their supplies away.

Then kill them.

Rock had to hand it to the man - though Chang would literally do that. Probably.

The Punisher has done what people haven't ever done - giving Roanapur a run for its money. Already, his body count was high from all the small gangs, cartels, mafias - then the hits on Hotel Moscow and Goof Fest to add.

Rock took a long drag from his cigarette, turning over his shoulder at his mates beginning to settle in for the night.

"Dutch," Rock called out, receiving silence.

"I know where Castle's going next. Time to act."

* * *

The Punisher packed light. His van was a rough half-mile down the road from the church - secluded - isolated. _Perfect_. In a black duffel bag, Castle had his M12S sub-gun and an M3 Benelli. The Punisher crossed through the jungle, handgun drawn, unsure why it all seemed so familiar - yet so distant.

The Punisher propped himself at the treeline and dropped the bag. He was just to the right of the church. Castle suspected living quarters were underneath - a watchman at the loading area, and everyone else asleep.

Moving fast, moving low, moving silent The Punisher crossed the open land. He had NVG's strapped to his head, capable of seeing deep into the darkness where they likely couldn't. Coming to the stone wall, Castle drew the Hi-Power from a chest holster, keeping it propped over his right breast - left hand out just slightly to feel the wall.

The Punisher circled around the backside of the church. There, a smoke deck with old ash trays and snuffed cigs sat. Castle crossed it and moved to an elevated landmass looking just over the loading area. There, a young man with blonde hair was sitting, cigarette in hand, staring off and away from him.

The guy's last mistake.

Without a second thought, The Punisher slid down the edge and into the lot. Breaking his fall into a roll, Castle did soft, quick steps until he came behind his chair. Along the journey, Castle replaced his handgun with the bowie across his backside.

Behind the lad, The Punisher used his palm and slammed the cigarette back into his throat. The guy cried - but only for a split second as The Punisher wrapped his arm around the face, tightening in a steel headlock.

Steel ripped through the air, The Punisher sinking his knife into the watchman's throat.

Moments passed, his gurgling attempts at breath blew blood from his nose and throat - The Punisher ripping the knife out, but allowing him to sit slumped in the chair.

Last ebbs of life came from the man in a twitch - something The Punisher had seen much of.

* * *

The side door was unlocked and The Punisher slipped in. Upstairs was the chapel, and down were quarters. Moving up, Castle observed from the shade of darkness a young man at the altar, reading the bible.

Slowly, The Punisher crept behind the altar boy, reading silently, rehearsing something at the light of a candle. Only when he was directly behind the altar boy did he hear something, and the altar boy turned.

An otherwise mellow and calm expression soon twisted in wide-eyed horror. The Punisher reached out, gripping the man's head and quickly driving the point of the bowie into the soft patch under his jaw - a wet _schlep_ echoing with his gurgles as air was replaced with blood within the trachea.

The Punisher lowered his corpse to the ground, pulling the knife accompanied by the same, wet noise.

The Punisher moved downstairs, finding two more.

A green haired man - older, perhaps late thirties and a younger initiate. From what Castle understood, the green haired guy was named Rico. No matter. The Punisher pulled the Browning Hi-Power with his left and steadied it in a single-handed aim.

* * *

Rico was enjoying a late night. He'd go out and replace Carlos on watch soon, and Able would return from his lonely study topside after this game. The other guy, a dark-haired twenty-something owed a favor, so he became a worker for the church. Carl Deekes.

Rico tilted his head at his hand - odd, really. He'd never found himself at the aft end of a poor game. Foul-mouthed Eda always ensured he knew the tricks - the cheats - the game. But, Carl Deekes was a genuinely good player.

_Probably how he got in this mess_

Rico snorted at his thought and played his hand. Carl smiled, ready to place his own down. "And... I wi-"

A thick _whump_ blasted in the air to Rico's left, and the side of Carl's head was suddenly jerked. His body careened from the chair and hit the floor with a thud. Rico immediately acted - his years of gunslingin' and goin' training from Eda was about to pay off.

Rico flipped right in his chair, rolling off his shoulder and ripping the MAC-10 off the table. When he moved to a knelt position, he brought it up to his shoulder and aimed at-

Another _whump_ reverberated through the air, and he felt heat in his chest. It was a flash, really, and Rico was suddenly on the ground. Instead of his head, like Carl, this passed through his heart. He could feel it spasm in his chest - his lungs failing to keep up as his mind began to scramble.

Slowly, boots lumbered over the hardwood and found themselves at his mantle.

Frank Castle, The Punisher stood over him with a Hi-Power nine millimeter handgun with quite the can on its barrel.

_No wonder it was so quiet._

Rico smirked as The Punisher waved it over his forehead. The Punisher remained stoic, however, as he squeezed the trigger. Rico's body twitched momentarily before everything went black for him - brain ceasing to function as The Punisher put it out of service - permanently.

* * *

The Punisher exhaled - _That was too close_. Had this Rico guy been able to spray that MAC-10, for sure there'd be more than a sleeping ex-CIA rogue and an old lady to worry about. Castle holstered the weapon and stepped over his body. In his evade, Rico had knocked over the chair.

Some noise might have been natural for this knock-off church.

The Punisher approached the bedside of a woman wrapped in sheets, bandages covering her body where his bullets tore through her sides.

_Guess she refused to stay hospitalized_, thought The Punisher.

He pulled his long, gleaming bowie, slick with the blood of the watchman and altar boy, placing the blade along her face and gently slicing it. Eda's eyes roared to life, and she stared The Punisher in the eye.

"Oh, fuck.. Fucking fuck you, Castle."

The Punisher dug his knife into her cheek, clasping his hand over her mouth as he carved a semi-circle around her right eye socket.

"Listen, Langley," The Punisher started, her muffled cries not breaching the strength of his arm - she hardly had the strength to do anything to fight back.

"I know what you did to the Americans twenty years ago."

The Punisher stopped, his eyes boring into hers with an ingrained hatred. It was almost as if Eda now knew how Castle felt about traitors - like he'd dealt with some before.

"The last man who betrayed his country for personal gain, I killed. Shot him twice. The man before him, I gouged his eyes out."

The Punisher let the words sink into Eda's soul as he removed the knife from her face - streaming with fresh blood. But their eyes stayed locked.

"I'm going to spill your guts like you spilled theirs."

Eda twitched in resistance for a split moment before Castle drove his knife deep into her abdomen, sawing through the abdominal muscles in a horizontal fashion, cutting open five inches of her gut, then tearing the knife out.

Beneath his hand, Eda was in a combined mess of shrieking and gasping for air. Her arms - weak as they may be, scratched at The Punisher's sleeve. The Punisher glared at her face, the bullet that clipped her skull had shown its mark. It was recoverable - Castle had been shot in the head before.

"I can't stay for hours and deal you the pain that you caused by betraying your brothers and sisters in arms. But what I _can_ do is make you feel pain, make you _beg_ for mercy, but deep down _you'll know_ you don't deserve it, _you piece of shit_."

Eda's eyes already showed it, and Castle reveled in it. Like the time he tortured that Russian, The Punisher grinned a sickly, wide, haunting grin.

The Punisher slipped the knife into his backside-rigged combat scabbard, taking his hand and sinking it into the opening cut in Eda's abdomen. He ripped out meat and splayed it over Eda's side.

The Punisher did this multiple times until most of her innards were displayed as macabre decorations in front of her. To his surprise, Eda was still awake, wide-eyed and silently cursing, chest rapidly rising and falling in hopes of breath and solace.

The Punisher could feel the wetness from her mouth through his gloved hand - blood seeping out of her teeth as she tried fighting every step of the way. His right forearm was now covered in several inches of scrapes from her fingernails - the arms they're attached to now laid flat, twitching as Eda riveted with pain.

The Punisher exhaled. No more talking.

He took the knife from his combat scabbard and placed the knife to her neck. For a moment, The Punisher saw regret in her eyes, the call for help, pleading for mercy.

The sight was short lived as The Punisher ran the blade deep across her esophagus, cutting it deep down past the throat. The Punisher stepped back, watching Eda in her throes, wriggling ever so slightly as her remaining blood ebbed from both throat and gut before she expired.

* * *

(One Hour Earlier)

Balalaika and Chang had summoned Ronnie Jaws and Abrego with their assorted gaggles of men. There they stood - the four dogs of Roanapur, going for The Punisher in an act. With them was Lagoon Company's Dutch, Rock, Revy, and Benny. Feat Lotton the Wizard, and Shenhua was still bed-ridden.

"Alright."

Balalaika began, taking a long drag from her thin cigar.

"Men of Roanapur. The Punisher is going to strike the Rip-Off Church next."

Balalaika glanced to Boris. He could tell that she - like him was not taking this well. Alcohol had been readily consumed by the soldiers of Hotel Moscow since Anatoly's death. Since Vladamir's, since Komorov, Balinskiy, Torov, Vada, Mikhail, Havanovich, Sanaviev... The names go on of who The Punisher has killed.

Balalaika's men were itching for a fight - and they'd deal with him the same way they dealt with those terrorists - without mercy.

Chang's men were equally riled up. Lacking more focus than Hotel Moscow, but Lao, one of Chang's higher ranking men had been twitchy all weekend to get a scratch at this bastard. He'd killed many of their men, many of Balalaika's men - who some of the Triad were actually _friends_ with, and Jackpot.

Abrego's Colombians were jacked up, ready to go. Their trade's been hurting since The Punisher came - and the same could be said for Ronnie's Italians.

One could say they, like twenty years ago, like up to two weeks ago, ran Roanapur in conjunction.

The all-too-real threat of it being taken away from them was now imminent.

None of them wanted that.

"Have your AK's, G3's, AR's, and any other weapon you find yourself with ready to fight with the deadliest man alive. With the deaths of so many of our comrades, he is not to be left alive after tonight. We go in hard, we go in fast, but we go in smooth. I've dug up chemical agent to use."

Some words went around the room, but the Russians stood tall.

"Chances are, the Rip Off church will be dead on arrival."

Balalaika took another drag.

"Soldiers of Hotel Moscow, of The Triad, The Columbians and Italians. No holding back, or I'll kill you myself."


	8. Setting The Stage, Ch8

Rock watched the room full of killers and convicts. For twenty years, his life was at the mercy of anyone around him - yet they were at the mercy of him. Little did they know, Rock had two phases for his plan. What he told Lagoon Company and associates was only part of it. Using the church as bait, shelling the church, using chemical agent to wipe up any remains Castle may have.

But in truth, Rock knew Castle. Rock knew the CBR training he went through, survival techniques, and the absolute cunning of a man like The Punisher would not allow him to die here. He'd find the hidden hatch in the floor of the lower level, he'd fake his death, and then he'd come back.

Rock flicked the ash off his cigarette, a grin crossing his face as he reveled in his mind.

_And then, his true plan would begin._

Revy glared at Rock in her half annoyed and half concerned glare Rock had become accustomed to over the years. She nudged him with her elbow, "Hey Rock, what'cha grinning for? Ready to kill this asshole? Is that it? Cause I sure am."

Rock laughed - something dry and hollow, then took another puff of his cigarette. "Yeah, Revy. I'm ready for him to die." Revy nodded, placing her hands on the dual- Beretta combo she had at her ribs. "Shame I won't get a chance to put a bullet in him myself. Bastard's good."

Rock flicked ash and puffed out the smoke. "Don't worry, Revy. You'll get your fill."

Sometime, Revy would understand. But right now, all she offered was a punch to Rock's shoulder and a laugh.

* * *

"You know, Rock, maybe the chemical agent was a bit far. Not very cool, unlike a just bunch of mortars." Lotton remarked from behind a sedan, wearing a MOPP suit to protect against the harmful chemicals spread by the attack. Boris, scouring the wreckage with Corporal Eugene and his men were wearing similar suits rigged with plate carriers and mag pouches.

Rock sighed. "No, but it's all part of the plan."

Lotton huffed, seemingly underwhelmed. "To be honest, I didn't think your plan was _that_ impressive... Just... I mean-"

"Oh shut the fuck up, Lotton, I'm so tired of hearing you bitch!" Revy snarled, hooking one of her fists into Lotton's ribs. Lotton curled over, grunting, breath struggling to enter and exit his lungs. Revy turned to Rock, grinning through her CBR mask. "I thought it was fuckin' perfect, Rock! Don't listen to this edgy shitlord. He's got no killer instinct."

Rock scoffed, leaning on the sedan. It seemed too easy for him, but perhaps the way Castle rigged the body would be convincing to them. Even if they were paratroopers, or whatever, they were _s__till_ simple minded. Most of the corpses - Eda's, Yolanda's, Rico's - were too mutilated for recognition.

That played in Rock's favor.

"Revy... Do you think he's actually dead?"

Play the part, Rock, like you've done for years.

"Shit, if he's not, then he's like that terminator bitch Roberta."

Act unsurprised, just stare at the wreckage. That's what he did - stared at the rubble, the men sifting through the wreckage for a corpse of the man who died three years ago in New York. _Savages_, Rock thought to himself.

Silent loathing consumed Rock, but he kept steady on the outside.

Truth be told, Rock liked Roanapur, but he hated it for what it's done to him. Made him like them, _a monster who enjoys inflicting pain._ It's too bad the person he cared for the most was the epitome of what he loathed about this place.

Taking a look at Revy, he nodded. "Yeah. Roberta was pretty damn scary."

Boris came back, dragging a body, clothes shredded and a skull vest covering his chest. Eugene and his men were still digging through the wreckage. Rock laid eyes on the horrifically disfigured body, blinking at it as Boris stared at Rock.

"Eugene confirmed he's the one. The Punisher is dead."

* * *

Castle heard the cannonade. He knew that sound anywhere.

Mortars.

Simple in theory once they were zeroed in. Just drop a shell and _boom_.

It's why they were so effective. World War One, Two, Korea, Vietnam, Iraq, Afghanistan... The mortar, besides the landmine, was a thing Castle feared the most during his days in Cerberus. Moments like these, people froze.

But not The Punisher.

The Punisher felt the first impact hit the bell tower, debris clattering through the rest of the church. The whole building shook, and Castle searched the floor. Underneath the table was a carpet. Castle kicked the table over and yanked up the carpet. Sure enough, it was a cellar access. Taking his vest, Castle moved over to the young man he put a hole in.

His head was empty, and as the second shell hit the front entrance, shattering it and part of the upper floor, Castle slipped the skull vest over the dead body. By the time the third mortar hit, filled with chemical agent, Castle was in the catacombs underneath.

The Punisher, armed with nothing but his suppressed Hi-Power and a flashlight, moved through the rat tunnel. It was dug, reinforced with wooden beams, and couldn't be taller than six feet. A cellar was likely to be down here, and with that, an escape. Some piping ran through it with holes every thirty feet - some kind of ventilation.

A minute passed, and the booming stopped.

It took ten minutes of crawling through the catacomb, finding himself in an open room. A cellar. Bed, food, water, and a few guns as well. Communications gear with wires running into the wall, a light, and some other commodities. Pictures of targets, locations, people. Looked like a traditional spook hideout.

The Punisher swept through the room, finding no traps, no hostiles.

The Punisher made his way to the gun rack, viewing the collection of modern, high-tech weaponry this Eda spook kept for herself.

The Punisher left through the winding catacombs once again, not taking anything with him.

It would take hours, but Castle would come out to a section of jungle canopying a beachhead. On the beach, nobody and nothing. Castle didn't recognize it, but it was Bao's homestead for several occasions when his bar became destroyed.

The Punisher would slink back to his warehouse and wait - and train - and become ready again. He'd have to wait a week, maybe two, maybe three until he'd come back.

The Punisher began walking.


	9. Two Week Booze, Ch9

It had been two weeks. The Punisher was dead to the world again - but not to Rock. _Rock knew_, because, _he knew_. Frank Castle was an insanely hard man to put down, and if what Rock had planned played out, he'd have a chance to put everyone else down around him.

Looking about the Lagoon office, Benny was typing away at his computer, likely talking to the off-and-on Jane he'd befriended years ago. Crazy that they were still together, really. But at the same time, not so crazy.

Rock looked at Dutch next. His eyes were hidden behind his spectacles as usual, reading a book about philosophy. The age on his face showed. Becoming an old man was one of the things he had to worry about. Even then, Dutch was ready to roar at any time.

Finally, Revy. Even though she and him shared an apartment two doors down, they always found themselves in Lagoon headquarters. She had a cup of scotch by her side, and an oiled rag in hand, cleaning her Beretta customs.

Rock thought over the past twenty years. How this city robbed his innocence from him, how it changed him - fundamentally and forever. The terrorists were a start.

Well, that's unfair.

No, the truth was - his mind was upset at the twins. The Vampire Twins. The way the girl looked into the sky when her life ended, a hole bored in her skull, forever implementing the image of how Roanapur dealt with the unfortunate in his mind.

The Washimine clan, the Lovelace Family.

Tragedies in a world that didn't give a fuck.

_Well_, Rock thought, staring into the ugly, eggshell colored ceiling of their office, _there's no stopping it now. All the pieces have been played, and now, it's a waiting game._

The Colombians and the Italians were next to go, of course. Castle had overlooked them the first time he scythed through Roanapur, and he wouldn't do it again. Abrego and Ronny Jaws were gonna get their fill, soon enough.

The skull-plastered vest of a ghoul would punish them, then Chang, then Balalaika, then him.

_"Good"_ was all Rock could think.

Though, he thought, it would be sad to see everything go. Everyone, too. His fond memories battled him during these phases of reflection, of dark clarity. The thought of it all going away was a grim one, but something relieving.

Rock's thoughts were interrupted when Dutch sat up, cursing.

"Fuck. Okay, who wants a drink? This damn room is getting stuffy."

Revy shot her hand up, a grin plastering her face, streaked with gun grease. "Oh hell yeah, I'm going!"

Benny turned off his computer screen. It was late, and ripe for drinking. "Yeah, same here. Need to get my mind off things."

Dutch looked at the Japanese man in his white dress shirt. "Rock?"

"Yeah. I'll go."

* * *

Later that night, the Lagoon Company had anchored themselves in Yellow Flag. Bao was looking especially nervous seeing them in. As if something was now tearing at his back. In fact, there was a suspicious figure in the corner, wearing black fatigues wrapped up by a trench coat.

Though, to be fair, edgy types had started drifting in recently.

Revy took a shot with Rock, men around them cheering on who'd out drink the other, Bao nervously serving drinks to the duo as they went on.

"And that's twelve!" Rock shouted, slamming the glass on the bar with Revy, almost in sync. The two wiped their mouths, eyeing each other with the same, deadly stare they had, the same confident grin when they drank like this.

_The crowd roared, save for the silent man in the corner._

Dutch laughed, tipping back his own glass of scotch. "Damn, Benny Boy. This month has been such a hellhole that... I don't think anyone's had time to unwind, eh?' Benny chuckled, downing a shot of his own. "Yeah, I agree with you one hundred percent Dutch. So much shit has happened, with The Punisher, Hotel Moscow, the Church... Hell, even Sawyer bit the bullet."

Dutch nodded. "I almost forgot about it... Lotton's been pretty torn up about losing her, huh?"

Benny nodded. "Shenhua, too. Those three were pretty tight, like us."

The tall, dark skin man nodded as he put down his third shot of the night, hastily filling it up again. "Fuck this month, man. Another sticky, shitty month in Roanapur."

"Yeah, amen to that." Benny took down another glass, the burn causing him to twinge a bit as it swam through his throat. Once it slammed on the counter, Bao was noticeably staring at the corner man.

Dutch glanced between Bao and the man in the corner. "Something got your attention back there, Bao?"

He chuckled nervously, peering away, shaking his head. "N-No, Dutch. Nothing, really, honest."

"I know you're lying. Who is he?"

Bao gulped, leaning onto the desk and whispering low.

"He's that guy, The P-"

Bao was cut off by a roaring applause, Revy and Rock simultaneously slamming down another shot into their hatches. Dutch's eyes shot wide, glancing to the two, the crowd, Benny, then back to Bao.

"Holy fuck, he's not dead?"

"No man! He came in this morning, started interrogating me and shit. Said he knew all the players, the game, and, and-"

Dutch shoved Bao back, his eyes locked onto the man.

"Fuck, man. Not what I had in mind for a day off."

Bao shook his head, his eyes now scanning the bar with timid nervousness.

"Oh shit... He's gone.."

Dutch scoffed, looking around himself. "Fuckin' A, Bao. Maybe you're tweakin' or something. Go take a load off, man, you're freaking me the fuck out." Bao dipped to the other side of the counter, having a substitute bartender fill in while he left.

Dutch looked to Benny. "Fuckin' Bao, always tweaked out about his god damn bar."

"Ha, yeah," Benny lifted his glass, pouring another down the hatch. "Can't say I blame him. Castle has been a scary thought to a place like this for a long time. Glad he's dead, though."

Dutch just nodded, taking another shot.

"Damn!"

* * *

Revy and Rock were on nineteen, the two becoming stumbling, cursing messes at this point. In had walked a beaming Shenhua and gloomy Lotton, betting the two on as they drank, all the while Lotton never got a glass for himself. Of course, why would he? He's allergic - or so he says.

Revy and Rock raise their twentieth shots and slam them down, the crowd cheering the two on in cannonades of "Rock!" and "Revy!"

Bets had been placed for a while, and they were looking neck in neck.

Dutch stopped at his eighth - and Benny, his sixth. The two were jolly talking, now. Pleasantry and vulgarity spewed from all the mouths in Yellow Flag that night.

Of course, it wouldn't be the only thing spewing.

The night's toilets would be accentuated with intense vomit at the hands of Rock and Revy. Dutch noticed they'd slammed their next shots, the crowd only enabling their self destructive behavior.

Drunkenly, Dutch looked at Benny.

"Hey... Benny boy... We uh... We should head back... Who can drive?"

"Uh... Shit... I don't know. Maybe the wizard?"

"Fuckin' Lotton... Milkman boy... Ha."

The two shared a laugh as Lotton shot them a look - but it wasn't one of malice or contempt, just an awkward grin they'd been used to by now. Even in his forties, Lotton hadn't changed. Many of them, really, hadn't changed.

Except for Rock.

He's changed dangerously, Dutch figured.

* * *

Lotton had managed to shove them all into Benny's Pontiac GTO in a heaped mess. Shenhua drove back to their own headquarters to spend a lonely night in a home with one less person in it.

Lotton on the other hand had the entirety of Lagoon Company to deal with - completely drunk. Once they arrived, it took everything Lotton had to drag Revy and Rock into their apartment. Dutch and Benny could fair well enough, and that was that.

Lotton peered at the two - Benny asleep on a pull out couch, and Dutch in his room, snoring with bile peeking at his throat every now and then. Lotton left the room, walking over to Revy's apartment. Inside, Rock was strewn across a couch, drool seeping from his mouth.

Revy was similar, strewn about her bed, a pile of cigarettes and other junk in a mess around her bed, on her furniture, on _everything_ really.

It was a wonder the place hadn't burned down. Maybe Rock kept it in check.

Lotton didn't know.

Dutch let Lotton stay the night this one time. It was a bit awkward for him, but that was no big deal.

In his typical fashion, he had a bag, and set himself up for the night in one of their couches.

As Lotton stared up into the eggshell ceiling, he fiddled with the blanket he slept under. For some reason, everyone could find a peaceful end to the night - but Lotton could not. Truth be told, the death of Frederica Sawyer hit him _hard_.

Lotton didn't have friends, but he found solace in the unique pairing the two had. Nightmares plagued his softer mind since that night. He wasn't a bred killer, really, but a showman. Him and Rock weren't dissimilar in that aspect.

Nope, not in the slightest.

Lotton squeezed his eyes shut in some effort to trim the torture his mind was being forced through.

A friend? No, too simple.

They were far more complex than that.

It'd be too on the nose to call it a working relationship, because Sawyer, at a fundamental level, couldn't understand those emotions except when she was killing. Or cleaning.

_She loved that_.

Lotton ran his hands over his face, a groan escaping his lips.

Was he the only person still caught up on Castle? Sure, Revy hated the guy because of how he killed Eda - they all saw the corpse Hotel Moscow dug up.

_Disembowelment_

What a horrible way to go.

If The Punisher was still alive, Lotton the Wizard would stop being a pansy.

He'd been at the butt end of pussy and pansy jokes for too long, or just being all edge and no blade.

_Time for some change, Lotton._

"Okay. If you're still alive, Mister Punisher, I'll send you to the shadowrealm for sure."

A smirk popped up on Lotton's face as he finally found a moment of clarity - to rest.

_Still me, though. _

_Still me._

* * *

**[Haven't had an author's note for a while. Since the beginning. Real happy that hundreds of people have visited the story and read it! Even if not many actually read all the way through it. Up until about now, I'd been going with the flow. From this chapter onward, I've actually planned it out, so expect a bit more formality to these chapters.]**

**[Speaking of them, please, leave feedback! Reviews, private messages, whatever. Metal music helps, but seeing a review _just really _gets me excited. For a first story, it's looking good.]**

**[Stay tuned, and thank you!]**


	10. Back From the Dead, Ch10

"No man, I swear, I didn't tell them!"

"I don't believe you."

"I - Come on man, please!"

The man in front of Dao stands imposing. The wounds of Roanapur had scabbed and skinned over, the moonlight showing his slicked hair, a dead-pan, hatred filled expression that accentuated his stature and frame. Over his shoulders, a black trench coat just barely shrouded the skull on his chest.

This man had been using Bao as an informant under pressure for a week. The true game, the city details, everything he needed on the street level. It's a shame he didn't do this earlier.

"Bao."

"Y-Yes?"

The man in black leaned down, his face becoming bright in the light, a gleaming bowie knife shown in his hands.

"Don't worry about it."

Bao was about to question the man's motives, but the man was faster than Bao could think. Suddenly, he grasped the back of Bao's head, yanking it forward and running the knife into his throat. Bao fell limp, his corpse careening onto the ground with blood ebbing from the mouth and neck.

The Punisher dropped the body, sliding the ka-bar combat knife into his belt scabbard. More than Bao would die tonight.

* * *

The Punisher had hijacked a shipment of coke meant for Ronny Jaws' Italians. Castle swapped out the goods with a concocted car bomb dating back to the days of a fated FBI building - fertilizer, potassium nitrate, blasting caps, and a little extra fuel in the tank.

The Punisher slipped on a black ski mask, hiding the skull vest under a zipped jacket.

It was a fifteen minute drive to the building they used. Three stories, corner of an intersection with a garage to park their product vans in. Castle drove right in, parking in the garage. Within, a guardsman stood up, G3 lazily propped in his hands. The guy was about five nine, stocky, and had greasy blonde hair paired with a cig in his mouth. Wore a dress coat shrouding his finely kept business attire.

On arrival, Castle gave a thumbs up to the man. The Italian muttered something foul, jerking his gun off to his right, indicating he wanted Castle out of the van.

Castle killed the engine after placing it in park, then exited.

"Ey man, whadda fuck you doin' this late? Shit better be tight, guy."

Castle nodded. "Don't you worry, it's all taken care of."

"Pff - crazy son of a fuckin' whore you are."

The Italian man walked around to the back end of the van, slinging the G3 over his shoulder. At the back of the van, he pulled open the doors to see various tubs wired together to a cellphone and a black duffel bag.

_Oh fuck._

"Hey, what the-!"

The man was too slow to fully realize what was about to happen to himself and Ronny Jaws.

The Punisher pulled a Ruger Mark IV suppressed, .22 caliber Handgun and put three small rounds into his face. Each round caused the grown man to twitch a little bit, his body collapsing in a dead heap moments later.

The Punisher pulled his mask off, stepping over the body and pulling a black duffel bag out of the van. Slamming the doors shut, The Punisher viewed the Italian homestead in final reflection. This car bomb would decimate the entire building, for sure.

He nodded, assuring himself, then began on his journey elsewhere.

The walk was about fifteen, twenty minutes tops until Castle found refuge at a bench. Wenches stared at him, unsure whether or not to approach the man. Men were lovin' the whores tonight, and the man looked promising. Nearby was another gang's hideout, full of hookers, drugs, and guns. The Punisher wouldn't target them tonight.

One stepped up as he pulled a cellphone from his pocket, dialing a number.

"Hey baby, lemme show you a good time."

Castle eyed her features. Curvaceous, capable, young, and smoking something that reeked. Castle shook his head as he dialed the last number, allowing the light to illustrate his facial features.

She recoiled from the sight as a grin spread across the Punisher's face.

_He enjoys it too much, now._

"No thanks. I have my own good time."

Underneath the Italian homestead, the fertilizer bomb detonated. An abrupt plume of hot air, shrapnel and concussive waves rocked the entire establishment, sinking the three floor building.

People near Castle began to freak out, drawing guns and moving to the street, witnessing the spectacle of an aftermath car bomb. Only the woman knew, and she stood there, trembling with hands over her mouth.

The Punisher slipped the phone in his pocket and stood, facing the girl.

"Run."

Was all he had to say - and run she did. The Punisher turned face and went to his next objective, The Manisalera Cartel.

* * *

Another ten minutes and Castle viewed the Manisalera's building from across the street. Wooden, old, and capably flammable with the proper tools. Dropping the duffel bag he had, The Punisher pulled an M32 Grenade Launcher, loaded with incendiary shells, capable of burning this stick-house to the ground.

Taking in consideration the lights and the rapidly moving bodies, Castle figured they knew about Ronny. Or, were on alert for something else. That didn't matter.

The moonlight illustrated his figure, the street lamps lighting his feet and the green-silver body of the M32.

Someone could see him from the window, pointing through it at Castle.

Shouldering the weapon, The Punisher fired a single grenade into the nearest door, it erupting in a brilliant white-yellow display.

The Punisher did the same to two more doors, then targeted the windows.

Punching three more rounds into them, the screams of burning men accentuated scents of charred wood and flesh. People who peeked out were to see The Punisher standing across the street, dropping the M32 in a bag, pulling out another weapon - tubular, modular, and full of HESH.

An AT4 rocket launcher. The Punisher leveled it with the building's center, armed the warhead, then fired. The missile soared in and detonated, cracking the structure in two and hastening it's collapse.

The Punisher discarded the tube and removed the Ruger Mark IV from his holster, taking a fresh magazine from one of several pouches about his vest, replacing the old one. He began towards the building to search for survivors. As The Punisher stepped closer to the collapsing, burning building, he noticed figures creeping to the right of his vision.

The Punisher knew them instantly to be the Colombians. They'd start shooting soon.

The burp of gunfire chattered, Punisher began bolting forwards, the bullets kicking behind him and on the walls down the street.

Raising his Ruger, standing still once he reached the sidewalk on the other side, The Punisher tapped the trigger until the Ruger ran dry. Eleven rounds spent, and Castle made no hesitation in replacing the old magazine, hitting the slide release, and loading the next ten in.

Handgun raised, The Punisher walked in front of the ember-filled corpse house of Colombians. The fire licked the concrete, the wood and steel buckled as the weight became too much to bear. A snap echoed through the street - followed by the building giving out and slamming to the ground.

A wave of dust kicked up and Castle could hear footsteps running towards him.

The ember cloud blurred his vision

A figure came into view.

With two taps of his trigger, two .22 rounds ripped into his chest, dropping the man. Not even half a second later, five men came running through in different spots.

The Punisher tapped three rounds into the first figure right in front of him, but another on his right swung something large and hard, cracking Castle right in the chest, flinging him on his back. The Punisher sprung off his legs and somersaulted right to avoid someone slamming something down on him.

Now, in the open, The Punisher could see four men inching from the smoke.

One of them was Abrego, holding a gun, ready to fire on The Punisher as his thugs held knives and broken-wood clubs. It seemed whoever had the sub gun, Castle killed earlier.

"Ey, it fucking figures the god damn Punisher is running round still. Thought you learned your fuckin' lesson when that Ivan bitch shelled the church."

The Punisher remained silent.

"No? Okay guys, fucking gut him."

The one with the club gunned forward. The Punisher slid his knife from the scabbard with his right, and as the man came high in to smash Castle's skull with a overhead strike. The Punisher stepped just to the right, jabbing the knife into the man's ribs. The man gasped, so Punisher ripped it out and sunk the combat knife into his neck.

Punisher ripped the knife out and threw it in a flat throw, scoring a hit in the second man's shoulder, forcing him to stumble back.

The third man barreled forward as the first collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath, unable to find any as blood pooled in his mouth and lungs.

The man swung his knife in wild arcs, The Punisher stepping back each time to avoid the wild, deadly swings.

Finally, the man pulled his right arm back and thrust the knife at Castle's face.

The Punisher whipped his right arm up and caught the strike, responding with a quick punch to the man's right kidney.

He buckled, stepping back. Punisher didn't allow that and twisted his wrist, forcing him to drop the knife, then pulled the man towards him. The Punisher stepped in, kneeing the gangster in the crotch, forcing him to fall at his knees and drop his head

Before the Colombian had time to react, Punisher wrapped his arms around the man's head - one on the chin, the other at the base of his skull. In a single, vigorous motion, Punisher wrought the man's head to the side, breaking his neck.

The Colombian dropped, and The Punisher shoved his corpse away. Bending down, he grabbed the discarded knife and bolted for the second member, still struggling with the knife in his shoulder.

The man went for a backhand, The Punisher ducked under it and dove the knife into the Colombian's ribs. Almost as fast, The Punisher ripped it out and did another flat knife throw at Abrego, catching him in the left forearm, forcing him to drop the gun. Punisher took the second knife from the man's shoulder and hurled it at Abrego, catching him in the midsection.

The Punisher bolted forward, Abrego struggling to do much from the two knives in him. A flashing glare of panic ran across his face as The Punisher spartan-kicked Abrego in the gut, sinking the combat knife further inside of him.

Abrego collapsed with a pained scream. The Punisher simply knelt over him, looking Abrego on the eyes. Abrego looked back, blood at his lips, the terrified man screaming out-

"Ey! Don't fucking do it! P-please!"

The Punisher let him plea, then took his right fist and buried it as deep as it could go into Abrego's liver, right under his rib cage. Abrego's body tensed for a moment, returning to a babbling fit of pain moments later.

The Punisher stood, staring down at Abrego as he wormed.

_"Shut the fuck up."_

The Punisher walked over to the gun Abrego had dropped.

Smith and Wesson Model 19. A classic, sleek gun with a short barrel and six rounds of three fifty seven magnum.

The Punisher checked the chamber, walking over to the man he'd broke the neck of

"Castle... You fuck," Abrego managed through labored words, staring at the man Punisher had executed earlier.

The Punisher rose the revolver at the man's skull, pulling the trigger, blowing part of it open on impact and contorting the corpse sideways.

"You fucking killed Rios! I... Oh, fuck!"

The Punisher directed the revolver over the second man, chest stabbed and neck cut open.

"Come on man, you already-!"

The Punisher pulled the trigger again, dumping the contents of the gangsters' skull into the pavement.

Abrego wailed in some agitation and mourning for his men - watching the Punisher deal with them all like this... It hurt, to say the least.

The final man had a knife lodged in his lung, then had it torn out just as fast, along with a gaping laceration in his shoulder.

The Punisher leveled the revolver over his forehead, pulling back the hammer.

"Oh ... Señor ... Muerte ... Ha ... Venido ... Santa María ... Bendice"

The Punisher cut his gargled speech off with a trigger pull, blowing a hole through the center of his forehead and ending his life.

The Punisher stepped over the corpse and moved over to Abrego. He was still writhing from the knife in his gut, and he could hardly move from the pain.

"Oh, fucking hell you _pendejo!_ Just _fuckin' do it already_, eh? _Come on!_"

The Punisher raised the revolver to Abrego's head.

_"¡Jodidamente mátame ya, pedazo de mierda!"_

Then lowered it to his stomach.

"Wha-"

_Whump _

_ Whump _

_ Whump_

Abrego was cut off as The Punisher punched three rounds into Abrego's intestines. He howled and screamed, squirming on the pavement as blood seeped from his gut and mouth.

"Oh _FUCK_. _Fucking FUCK_."

Abrego screamed as loud as his lungs would allow as blood seeped out of him.

"Hoo... _AAAHH_. Que el ... Maldito demonio de ... _¡Jódete, jódete! Santa Maria jodidamente salva mi alma!"_

Calmly, The Punisher moved to where he dropped his Ruger, the background of the burning Manisalera Cartel's building shadowing the man, appearing like death to Abrego as he continued to writhe.

The Punisher returned, pointing the Mark IV at Abrego.

Abrego looked at the skull on The Punishers' chest, and the expression on his face.

Was that...

A smile?

The people around them saw it. Spectators. Men and women, children even, all watched as The Punisher had decimated the Manisalera Cartel.

"_Jodido coño!_"

Abrego screamed as The Punisher dumped the remaining five, twenty two caliber bullets into Abrego's chest cavity, causing him to flinch and twist with every small bullet plugged into him.

The Punisher replaced his magazine, tore the knife from Abregos corpse and disappeared into the alleyway. He left behind decimation in the form of burning buildings, bodies, and the tube of the now useless AT4 in an alleyway.

The Punisher is back.

And is back for blood.

* * *

**[Authors Note]**

**[Okay, that's number ten. It'll be a while before I'm back - life things to do.]**

**[In the mean time, leave a review here or message me! I really appreciate whatever is put in reviews, cause it tells me _someone _is reading this!]**

**[Thank you!]**


	11. The Stage, Ch11

**[It's been a bit. Things are going down at the wire on my side, but I'll try to keep everything updated and write as much as I can.]**

**[Enjoy!]**

Groggy, hungover mornings were a standard in the Lagoon Company. However, the past month had the first interruption of that time honored tradition due to The Punisher's run through Roanapur. So, last night was one hell of a drink session for the members of Lagoon Company. Rock and Revy were neck and neck, and to tell the truth, Dutch himself didn't really remember who'd won. His head was foggy, not being much of a drinker except the occasional cup or two from his private collection.

Dutch sat straight in his bed and fumbled around for his glasses, finding the shaded metal spectacles on his nightstand. Placing them over his eyes, Dutch utilized his index to firmly place them on the bridge of his nose.

_The Punisher_

Dutch pondered the name a bit. What it meant, who was behind it, the story behind such a force of nature that it thwarted Roanapur's whole system in just a month. _Well_, Dutch thought, _Rock was the same way._

Rock was also different. He wasn't a full blooded psychopath bent on gunning down every shadowy man in sight. No, Rock was a bit more humane than The Punisher in Dutch's mind. The Punisher shot and Rock talked.

Being a fan of Nietzsche's works, Dutch never saw the end point for anyone but himself and his crew. There wasn't a point in the world, cause everything was fucked. But for him and his crew, he could pave a path for their own successes. The Punisher got in the way of that, and he'd already killed someone close to them.

Sawyer.

Despite her ideology being fundamentally worse than Castle's, she did it as work, right? Dutch enjoyed pondering the psychology behind Roanapur sometimes. How everyone could abhor the Punisher, yet never understand why he was here in the first place.

To Punish _them_.

The murderers, cleaners, drug and gun runners, human traffickers and all other sorts of horrible deeds were the core of Roanapur's economy, and The Punisher was the perfect answer in more ways than one.

Why was Dutch so caught up on him? The Punisher was dead. They all saw Hotel Moscow shell the church, both with high explosive and chemical agent.

Dutch's thoughts were always scattered when he drank.

Dutch slid out of his bed and slowly moved towards the rooms' door, swinging it open and stepping out into the lobby. Lotton and Benny were there.

Lotton was stirring, awake, drinking milk from a glass and eating something from a bowl. Benny was, well, on the computer as usual. Looking for guns, or parts, or everything else Benny did in that chair. Benny was eating something, and it only just occurred to Dutch that something wonderful was wafting through his nose.

Dutch looked at Lotton, "Holy shit, Lotton, you can cook?"

Lotton gave an awkward grin as he shoveled part of an omelette into his mouth. "Ah, yeah. I picked up plenty of cooking skills because Shenhua and Sawyer suck at cooking. And I got tired of eating take out."

Dutch rubbed his temples and approached the stove. Sure enough, there was an omelette there for each person. Well, minus Benny and Lotton. Revy, Rock and himself had one laid out each. Large, with whatever meat they had, a few chopped vegetables and some cheese.

Dutch inhaled slowly, letting the scent flood through his nasal cavities once again. God damn, it's been a while since he's had anything that smelled _that_ good. There's the noodle market, but it seems Lotton knew what he was doing.

Benny gingerly bit off piece after piece of his omelette. Lotton woke Benny up to ask what he'd like in his, then get an opinion on Dutch, Revy and Rock. Benny had Lotton throw bacon, mushrooms, yellow peppers and pepper jack cheese into Dutch's omelette. Benny had his own concoction of tuna, American cheese, peppers and jalapenos. For Revy, she'd eat just about anything, and Rock was a more simple man with simple pleasures. Just the ham and cheese for him.

Benny was the least hungover from the group, save for Lotton, who didn't drink. Benny now had his eyes scrolling through a selection of new purchase for the group. Parts for the boat, mainly. They were looking for some upgrades. Thing is, it's a lot harder to find the parts now than it was twenty years ago.

Benny began to review the past couple months... The Punisher being a hot topic, even though he's been dead for two weeks. He didn't really think too much on the guy. Never met him face to face, but he saw the effects of The Punisher on the rest of Roanapur as Benny walked through the streets.

Everyone on high alert, everyone itchy, everyone ready to blow at a moment's notice. Benny thought it was just bad for business, and a nuisance. The Punisher did scare him, like it scared everyone in Roanapur. The idea of this city was a sacred thing, almost. Even if they were of the walking dead, Benny thought, there was a certain warmth to Roanapur.

Maybe others felt the same, maybe they didn't, but Roanapur was his shitty home and he didn't like the idea of it going away.

The phone rang, and Dutch answered it. Benny didn't take too much notice, they got morning calls all the time. Balalaika? Well, that's also to be expected.

Then, Dutch started something strange.

"Holy fucking shit."

Dutch kept his cool, always, and he still did when he spoke these words. However, there was a certain venom in their pronunciation that caused Benny to turn his head and stare at the charismatic leader of Lagoon Company.

"Dutch?"

Benny asked, perplexed. Dutch hung up and sighed, moving to rubbing his temples, and finally removing his glasses. Dutch locked eyes with Benny for a moment, then looked away.

Just a few words gave Benny a deep pang in his stomach that almost made him toss the food he just ate.

_"The Punisher's still alive, Benny boy."_

* * *

Revy's regular routine involved pounding headaches, vomiting, and working out through this shitty condition every morning. Recently, there'd been a severe lack of being hungover. Thanks to last night, both herself and Rock were accompanying the rim of her toilet bowl for a solid ten minutes before they could properly function in the morning.

After that, Revy laid back down on her messily laid bed, staring into the ceiling, her mind blank. She could hear Rock getting ready for the morning - shaving, brushing, combing, ironing his white dress shirt, black slacks, and blue tie. His shoes were given a proper polish for the day, and he was up and active.

Unlike Revy, Rock preferred evening exercise. Speaking of which, Revy began to go at it with her pull up bar. Rock didn't watch; the marvel of how Revy was capable of engaging in her morning routine despite being shit faced half the nights she walked and breathed in Roanapur no longer surprised him. Nothing surprised him, anymore.

Some thirty minutes later, Revy was complete and taking a shower. Before, Rock had already taken one. Revy brewed as she ran the hot water down her skin, whatever soap she had available was suitable to wash with.

_The Punisher_

She wishes she had a chance to shoot at the guy. The one time she got the chance and _bang_, the man used flashbangs and smoke, then right at the climax Dutch stopped The Punisher from putting a bullet in her head. She longed for a chance to shoot the guy, but he was dead.

And that was that.

People come to Roanapur, start shit, and die. The Punisher was no different. It left Revy to think about, however, what he's done here. The shithead killed Sawyer, killed Anatoly and Vladimir. Personally, she never knew the two Ivans, but they were held in high regard by Balalaika and Boris.

What did Revy think of him?

He was the bane.

That was that. Because everyone in this city was his target. She, Rock, Dutch, Benny, Chang, Ronny, Abrego, Bao, Balalaika, the guy that sometimes shaves Rock every other weekend, the woman who owns the noodle market, the old guy who works on Revy's Beretta customs, you name a person in Roanapur and The Punisher would have no problem killing them.

That's what Revy thought. He was anti-them, and needed to die.

But, Revy loathes that _she_ wasn't the one to put a bullet in him. Nope, that honor went to the armories of Hotel Moscow.

Revy left the shower after her pondering was over, moving across the room in full nude to grab water from the fridge, drink, replace it and dress into her usual gear for the day. Cut jeans, a black tank top, green jungle boots and a leather holster rig that rests on her shoulders.

Rock was minding his own business, then a knock came. Rock answered the door to an oddly distressed Dutch, pinching the bridge of his nose, but nothing else. It was like Dutch was more annoyed than what his facial features let on.

"Dutch?"

Rock asked, his head tilting to the side in concern. Dutch looked Rock in the eye, then Revy, then back to Rock.

"He's alive. The Punisher just took out the Italians _and_ the Manisalera Cartel in some hellish show of fireworks. Oh, and Lotton made omelettes. Come get them, cause you'll need a full stomach for what we're about to go through... Again."

Rock acted surprised, eyes widening, fingers finding their place on his chin like normal. Revy released a growl, more triumphant than displeased, ripping her Beretta customs from their rig and pointing them in the air.

"Fuckin' A! That bastard's gonna get a bullet from each Cutlass right in the skull!"

* * *

Lotton retrieved his phone as Lagoon sat in a circle before him, each discussing and brewing over this new fact. Balalaika had given them a directive for utilization, and they'd be called in at a moment's notice should The Punisher turn up. As usual, the guy was slick.

Lotton phoned home.

Moments later, Shenhua answered.

"Hello, this Shenhua, who this?"

"It's Lotton."

"Oh hello Lotton, how hungover lagoon company? Revy puke again?"

"Yeah. Something else, too."

"Ok hurry up and say it!"

Lotton inhaled slowly, "The Punisher is alive. He just took out Abrego's Manisalera Cartel, The Jaws' Italians and Bao."

There was a pause,

"That maddafucker did look real sweaty last night, didn't he? Okay, come back and we plan for killing Punisher, okay? This very bad, but we gonna make that muddafucker pay."

"I'll be back in an hour."

Lotton hung up, staring at the phone in some thought.

"Hmmm... Dutch, thank you for the nights' stay. I'll find a way to repay you. For now," Lotton slowly stood up and pressed his glasses to his eyes, fluttering his trench coat with the other hand.

"I must depart to make preparations for sending The Punisher to the shadow realm."

Revy snickered, waving Lotton off nonchalantly. "Whatever weirdo, just don't die on the way home." Rock gave Lotton a warm smile, "Do your best, Lotton."

* * *

Balalaika had called Chang, too. The conversation was brief, and Chang listed a time and place. Balalaika obliged, and within the hour, they were both standing in front of each other at the docks. Balalaika and Chang both had cigarettes in their mouths, hung at the corner.

Chang spoke first.

"Gotta say, this Punisher guy is really growing on me. He single handedly turned Roanapur upside down, and in the span of a night took out both the Italians and Abrego's Manisalera Cartel. But now he's a problem for us again... What's the plan?"

Balalaika took a long drag, internally loathing his bit of exposition. Chang liked to talk, that was nothing new. "As much as a prowl with our forces would improve the spirits of our men, we need to consider other options. The Punisher's been able to counter our men at every corner. I suggest we put out an open contract."

Chang exhaled, blowing smoke over his right shoulder. Taking his left, Chang dug a cellphone from his pocket. Flip type, like the old days. "How much?" Chang asked as he flipped open the cell.

Balalaika hung on the thought for a moment..

"Enough to get a small army to go after him. People from the inside _and_ the outside."

Chang punched a few numbers into his cell, then closed it, replacing it to his pocket

"And Chang,"

Chang tilted his head as he took another drag from his cigarette.

"I believe this Punisher may go after the Triad next. You're the only group in Roanapur he hasn't taken a shot at."

Chang dropped the cigarette on the ground as he blew out a final puff of smoke - "Thanks, I'll keep an eye out."

Balalaika did the same, snuffing her own cigarette with the heel of her shoe. "Well, Chang, nobody lives forever. If this is our time, I suggest we don't go in vain."

Chang scoffed, "Speak for yourself. I've still got a life to live. See you around, Fry Face."

With a half hearted wave, Chang departed back to his black sedan, and Balalaika returned to hers.


	12. Prep Work, Ch12

The aftermath of The Punisher's night in Roanapur spurred on as the man plotted his next move; assaulting the Triad. Castle sat within the basement of his warehouse workshop and living quarters. Upstairs was storage for anything he deemed necessary - including his van. This included several corridors at random to confuse people, a garage, and rooms filled with food stores like MRE's.

Castle had a lot to choose from in terms of weaponry. He sat in front of his weapon wall, brooding on the situation and choices.

The M4A1, G3A3, CZ BREN 2, Beretta 93R, Ultimax 100 MK8, Surgeon Scalpel Long Action 300WM, MP5A5, ASh-12.7, Serbu Shorty, MG3, Glock 17, AAC Honey Badger, Ruger Mark IV, Unica 6 .454 Casull Model, SERO GM6 Lynx, Micro Uzi, Browning Hi-Power, and an RPG-7.

That, and the M32 in his van.

The broad array of weaponry allowed Castle to prepare for and dominate in any situation presented to him. His knowledge of these weapon systems and their application to his duty allowed the absolution of his enemy. Castle observed each one in their rack, making careful calculations in his head to which one he'd use for this next situation.

A careful observer would notice the ASh-12.7; such a unique weapon would indeed be odd for Castle to have. Unknown to all but himself, Castle did confiscate a weapon from Anatoly's outpost. This hard hitting, low penetration powerhouse was exactly that.

Back to planning.

First, he'd hook up an agent to the ventilation system. He knew where the Triad slept, and they'd be ready for him. A maintenance man disguise was in order.

He'd kill the two guards at early morning and set up his plan. Rigging tear gas to a criminals' tower wasn't too horrible - if any innocent people were caught in the initial cloud of it - if there were innocent people in this city; they'd live.

After that, Castle would have ten minutes to go through ten floors of hardmen swiftly and decisively. The Honey Badger would be good for silent kills - to keep his location hidden. The .300 AAC Blackout round in subsonic, paired with the integral suppressor would be supreme in this scenario. Taking the AR-platform carbine, he placed it to the table on his right.

For his secondary, Castle grabbed the Browning Hi-Power. While the Glock had more capacity, he preferred something with a bit more heft. Besides, this was more disposable at the moment than the Glock. He simply had more for the Glock and couldn't afford to lose it like he did the P226 - or the Desert Eagle - or the G36C - or the M3 Benelli.

Placing it on the table to his right, Castle continued to brew over his choices. He needed a boom stick for a fail-safe.

Grasping the Serbu Shorty, he contemplated what to bring with it. A simple six count shell rack on his thigh would do, paired with a longer holster on his back to conceal it in.

Castle placed it to the right and began thinking of more choices. Just in case he needed something coming back down - as Castle expected there would be many more coming for him - he brewed on the homecoming choice. He gripped the USAS-12, a Korean fully-automatic combat shotgun capable of roughly 450 rounds per minute. By some basic math, that means it could dump an entire twenty round drum in around two and a half seconds.

The Punisher nodded at his choice and placed it on his right. He'd need to grab some special magazine pouches for it - as the magazines for the USAS compared to the Honey Badger were significantly larger. He'd simply have a second MOLLE load-out in the second bag.

The truck guns were next - something to pull out in a jiffy and use for an extended time just in case the fifty caliber M2HB wasn't just quite enough.

For a seat gun, the Unica 6 in 454 would do. Six rounds of the intense cartridge could floor a man in level three body armor. The unique operating system provided low, flat recoil that played into Castle's favor when squeezing off shots.

Next; a glove box gun. It was a tough choice, but it didn't take long for him to pick. The Micro-Uzi. High rate of fire, simple, and loaded with nine millimeter parabellum rounds. It was a modern version of the venerable Uzi platform, with all sorts of mods and magazines to go with it.

Castle placed it to his left.

Finally, if the firefight extended beyond that and he needed to fight his way out of his van, Castle grabbed the Ultimax 100 MK8. A Singaporean Light Machine gun that can take STANAG configured magazines. It's weight attracted Castle - a ten pound light machine gun was something to savor. Chambered in the universal five-five-six by forty five, almost anyone could find the right stuff to use it. Getting one was the hardest part, though, as acquiring Singaporean firearms was no easy feat.

Castle placed the Ultimax to his left side, then leaned back in his seat

The M32 was already in the van, ready for deployment at moment's notice.

Fragmentation, HE, incendiary, tear gas - he had all the necessary ammunition for the thing should he need it.

Castle considered how the homecoming party would be the worst of the firefight. The journey up would be like butter - shooting calves who're already injured. Some may resist the tear gas, and few will not be affected, but they will be few and far between.

The men on the upper floor, where Castle expected a pocket of them would be - would be the hardest choke point.

Flashbangs, frags, that'd do.

Perhaps some smoke.

An IR optic wouldn't hurt.

The body armor was next. He'd need a more reinforced plate carrier, Kevlar shin, shoulder, groin, neck, thigh and face pieces. That wouldn't be hard.

Castle had confiscated a few ballistic face masks in his time. Ballistic level III, and capable of taking most handgun calibers without punching through.

He'd malform some police vests into Velcro attached rigs for the forearms and shins, while using stock pieces for the groin, shoulder, and neck - no modifying required.

The Punisher stood where Castle sat and began piecing everything together in his mind.

And then,

The Punisher went to work.

* * *

0455

The next day

The Punisher parked his black van in a two-story parking garage in the surprisingly more modernized downtown Roanapur. The outskirts around the docks were slum like - reminding him of Harlem. Downtown looked something fresh from a fusion city of about five different cultures.

But that's the nature of Thailand.

The Punisher walked under the cover of everyone's groggy morning eyes, his facial features hidden by the collar of his overalls. The Punisher slipped unseen into the back alley separating the Triad's tower and another nondescript office building. The double steel doors of the back entrance for crew members were left ajar.

The Punisher entered, his identity still hidden from view.

Inside, two guards sat lazily at a cards table, cigarettes hung from their mouth. He couldn't tell what they were saying, but he could easily see the MP5A2 sub-machine guns they held.

One stood up, saying something in Mandarin to the other, then looking at the Punisher.

"Some ID, fu-"

Using his right, The Punisher cleared leather with his Browning Hi Power from a holster concealed under the working overalls. Immediately, he punched a suppressed round through the first man's skull.

The second man jerked back, swinging his sub-gun around for a response.

The Punisher swapped targets and put two rounds into the hardman's torso, dropping him instantly against his chair.

The snub-nosed suppressor The Punisher had on the Hi-Power worked wonders with subsonic ammunition.

He put the weapon back into it's concealed holster and walked through the concrete floored maintenance rooms. There were rooms for machinery, plumbing, electrical, water, refrigeration, a storage room that opened to a loading dock for semi trucks, and finally - the ventilation room.

The Punisher swung the doors open to find the room unoccupied. Closing the door behind him, The Punisher set down both of the duffel bags he carried with him. He stripped from his overalls to reveal his black battle dress - a form-fitting black long sleeve and black combat trousers with similarly accentuated combat boots.

The Punisher unzipped one bag and removed a tub, placing it to the side. The next piece he removed was the vest - skull emblazoned and preloaded with about eight, 30 round .300 Blackout chambered magazines. With it came two flashbang grenades, a Fragmentation grenade and a smoke grenade.

He slid it over his chest, securing it with side straps. The vest also came equipped with the Serbu Shorty strapped to it's backside. The Punisher then grabbed two combat knives, securing one to the rear of his waist and another to a scabbard positioned at his left shoulder.

The Browning Hi-Power was already in place, positioned at his right side in a holster.

The Punisher grabbed the six round shell rack and strapped it around his right thigh, clipping the top clip to his belt. He repeated the same process with a solid base magazine holder for his left thigh, holding three magazines for his Browning Hi-Power.

Finally, The Punisher erected the Honey Badger from the bag, loading it with a spare magazine from within. The Honey Badger had it's bolt already locked open, so all The Punisher had to do was hit the slide release to load the first round. Equipped on the integrally suppressed carbine was an angled foregrip, flashlight, IR laser, and an optic rig that contained a top mounted IR optic and a side mounted 1x Eotech Holo sight.

The Punisher pulled the attached three point sling over his torso, proceeding to grab a CBR mask and attach it to his face, screwing in a filter moments later. The Punisher grabbed the tub and moved to the ventilation system.

Within moments, the Punisher had cracked open the tub of high dosage tear gas mixture, dumping it into the system.

It was only a matter of time, now.

The Punisher grabbed the second bag and moved back through the hallways.

He entered the electrical room and removed a small, shaped charge from the bag and placed it on the main power conduit.

The Punisher left to the maintenance elevator by the back entrance.

Once there, The Punisher punched the 'up' button on the elevator, tossed his bag in, then pressed the top floor button inside the elevator. The Punisher stepped out, watching the lights on top of the elevator door activate and deactivate until it arrived to the top floor.

Two second later, The Punisher triggered the explosive rigged to the power conduit - and the lights went out.


	13. Kill 'em All, Ch13

The Punisher went muzzle first into the lobby. People were scattered - civilians running out of the front doors while armed guards waved around, trying to tank the tear gas that flooded their senses. there were about six of them, unaware of The Punisher emerging from the backside of the lobby. The Punisher put one in the sight of his IR scope, squeezing off a single shot through the back of his skull.

The Punisher wasted no time in switching targets, punching another man dead into the floor. One noticed, so The Punisher swapped targets and drilled a .300 blackout round through his nose and out the back of his neck. The Punisher shifted his body low as the others quickly turned around to see what those noises were.

The Punisher tapped the trigger decisively, blowing out a man's kneecaps, swapping targets and drilling a round through a man's groin. The last man got a lock as the other two buckled into the ground, clutching parts intermingled with the strangled screams they tried producing through the tear gas.

The last man was one hell of a resilient bastard, cause he immediately let the MP7 in his hand rip.

The bullets weren't on target, though, and The Punisher heard them chip the walls behind him and over his head.

The Punisher threw himself to the floor, looking up and driving two .300 slugs into the man's torso. The fact he was only stumbling meant the guy was wearing body armor - _which is smart, but a pain in the ass_, so The Punisher raised his reticle and drilled a round through the hardman's jaw, snapping his head back and dropping the man to the ground.

The Punisher stood up, walking over to the man with a hole in his groin and giving him a single bullet through the skull. He looked over to the man with two less knees, giving him the same treatment. The lobby was clear - and they were a decent pain to deal with.

The Punisher rounded to the right and made his way up the main staircase. He estimated he spent about a third of his magazine, meaning he was on good track. Letting the muzzle lead, The Punisher entered the second floor.

This was unlike the lobby - not a hotel space, and filled to the brim with security offices that were lined with Trad hardmen pooling into the hallway, unable to stakeout the gas pouring through the vents. The Punisher leveled his Honey Badger with heads and began tapping the trigger.

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

At the seventh one, someone must have heard the noise above the coughing and bleating of men choking on gas, as he pulled his handgun and began firing wildly into the air around him. The Punisher made that man his eighth.

The Punisher stepped over the bodies, dispatching numbers nine, ten, and eleven at the back of the heap. Peering around, he saw two more men in a board room to his right. They had masks on, and in their hands, HK33 automatic rifles with flashlights. One was leveled with The Punisher, and he sprung into action.

The HK33 burped, two rounds punching into The Punisher's chest and forcing him to stumble. The Punisher waited until his back slapped on the wall that he'd fall onto, then he leveled the carbine to the first man, punching a .300 blackout round into his throat in a quick exchange. The second man turned around, but not in time, as The Punisher made number thirteen go straight through his forehead.

So, the tear gas was a great idea.

The Punisher moved over numbers nine, ten and eleven to get to the staircase at the end of the hallway. Two thirds gone, one third left. Barreling down the stairs came a main wielding a shotgun. The Punisher shot first, driving a single bullet through his mouth and out his neck, dropping the man immediately.

The Punisher could hear more fumbling feet roaring down the stairs - and promptly stepped back. The Punisher moved to the right wall and knelt, flicking the fire selector to automatic and dropping the carbine to his chest.

He had a couple seconds.

The Punisher grabbed one of the Triad's guns from the heap of corpses he sat in - a Remington 1100 semi auto shotgun. The Punisher leveled it with his shoulder and waited...

Three men came running from the open door, armed with various weaponry, sight and sense obscured by the gas. The Punisher tapped the trigger of the shotgun four times, punching buckshot into chests and skulls, laying the three out flat.

Another man came around the corner, firing an Uzi that chattered uselessly at the plethora of corpses already dotting the hallway. The Punisher railed a shotshell into his skull, blowing him off his feet and sending him into the stairwell.

The Punisher dropped the shotgun and pulled his Honey Badger from his chest. Using the muzzle to guide, The Punisher rose and moved into the stairwell, sweeping with the barrel and identifying no targets. He began upwards, IR trained on the stairways above him as he ascended. It was important he took out everyone at every level - just to make sure he wouldn't get unpleasantly flanked.

Onto floor three, a squad of men who had donned masks were standing just barely out of some doorways. MP5's chattered, eating up the door frame that The Punisher just ducked out of view from. Light shone in through the windows that the hardmen had pulled open.

The Punisher grunted at this new obstacle. Taking a cylindrical device from his rig, he pulled the pin, but held the catch. An M82 concussion grenade was in order, and the device would do just fine. Their training was holding them together - and their other senses were dull enough from the sudden gas attack.

He could still hear some of them coughing.

Chucking the banger around the corner, it erupted in the center of the hallway. Muzzle forward, The Punisher charged in. Two men had pooled into the hallway, and The Punisher punched one round in each head. Sticking to the right side of the hall, where the other two had come from, The Punisher kept his aim left to the men who'd gone back inside their rooms.

First room, a man was leaning on a counter, clutching his head.

The Punisher dispatched the man with a gunshot to the skull.

Moving to the second room, the man was being propped up by two others. They and The Punisher locked eyes for a moment, and then they all started shooting.

The Punisher repeatedly tapped the trigger to his Honey Badger, punching bullets into the trio's chest and head, while the two with guns fired a flurry of inaccurate nine millimeter from their MP5's. A couple streaked across The Punisher's chest rig, pushing him back into the wall behind him, giving him another shock and period of shortness of breath - but the three were dead, and his weapon was empty.

A man peeled around the corner just to The Punisher's right. He had a Glock out, viciously swinging it around in search for a target. He was looking in the wrong area - luckily for The Punisher. Dropping his rifle, The Punisher lurched forward. The man pointed the gun at The Punisher, but he was already on that.

Sweeping the gun off center with his left and grabbing the slide, The Punisher immediately whipped the back of the hardman's wrist with his right and twisted with his core. The Glock came free from the hardman's hands, but he immediately hooked The Punisher in the jaw with a world-rocking punch.

The Punisher felt himself go off balance for a moment - leveling the Glock with his waist, The Punisher began rapidly punching rounds into the Triad hardmen. Four found themselves in the hardman's groin and waist, the guy stumbling backwards with each shot.

The Punisher planted his right foot back and regained his balance, pushing the muzzle of the Glock forward and delivering a final bullet to the Triad hardman's head, dropping him to the floor. The Punisher kept the Glock, a Glock 21 in .45 Automatic.

If The Punisher knew the Triad well enough, they had most of their men equipped with standard loadouts, and the Glock 21 was a standard - with the M12S, MP5A2, Remington 1100, HK33, MP7, and the Browning Hi-Power.

Sure, there were definitely others, but it was always nice to know what you were dealing with when fighting an enemy who outnumbered you as much as the Triad did. The Punisher knew he was outmatched in hand to hand, too. The last guy who knew punches this damn fast was a kid running around in red, reinforced poly-something body armor that could take punches and gunshots all the same.

_Red_

Why was it coming to him just now? Maybe all the blood on the floor made it so.

The Punisher swept through the room on his right, finding no more of the hardmen the Triad seemed to have troves of. Exiting the room, another man with an M12S was seen coming out of the stairwell. The Punisher leveled the Glock at the man, who aimed his M12S at the same time. The Punisher would lose that draw.

So, he threw himself onto a body, the hardman rattling off a burst into the wall where The Punisher used to be. The guy started tailing the rounds fast, and The Punisher began railing rounds from the Glock in his hands.

First one missed, the second one grazed his neck, and the third found purchase in piercing the base of the man's collar. The hardman stumbled back, going to kneel and clutching his throat. Blood poured from the wound and through his mouth inside his gas mask.

The Punisher punched a hole through the man's skull, snapping it back and ending whatever pain he was going through in an instant. The Punisher stood, keeping the handgun aimed down that side. The man had come from up top.

The Punisher dropped the Glock, dipping into the opposite board room and pulling his Honey Badger from his chest. Simultaneously, The Punisher used his right index finger to press the magazine release, his left hand pulling a fresh 30 round magazine from a magazine holder on his chest, firmly inserting it into the magwell of the Honey Badger.

The Punisher traced his left hand up, pressing down on the bolt release and loading the first round.

The Punisher let the muzzle lead him out of the room, peering at both entrances to this part of the floor before moving into the stairwells. They were pretty big board rooms, which makes sense for the girth of the building.

* * *

The next floors - all the way up to eight consisted of a gym, and actual hotel rooms for residents. He'd gassed a few - unintentionally - but tear gas was non-lethal. The only thing he'd need to worry about would be if any of them had breathing issues.

If any of them were innocent.

The Punisher didn't dwell on this thought as he rounded the next staircase that took him to the ninth floor. The tingling on his skin was gone - indicating that the tear gas had nearly dissipated at this point.

He let the muzzle guide around the corner to the ninth floor. The halls forked - left, right, and forward - The Punisher guided his muzzle around, making sure not to step into view as he swept the routes for targets.

Nothing.

The Punisher stepped out and moved left. Just as he did, a pang riveted his gut.

A loud _whump_ bellowed through the hall - something cacophonous slamming into his back and nearly forcing The Punisher to the ground. He stumbled, turned, and let himself fall onto his ass as he flicked the Honey Badger into automatic.

Three men were eagerly gaining on him. One had a G3 battle rifle, and the other two had Remington 1100 shotguns.

_That's not good._

The Punisher squeezed the trigger to his Honey Badger as the man with the G3 squeezed another round off - skinning just by The Punisher's head.

The rapport of full auto .300 Blackout stitched the right 1100 gunner and the G3 user from legs to chest in gunfire, while the third man quickly began dispatching shells at the shoulder with his shotgun.

The danger closeness of this made The Punisher immediately roll to his left - the Remington's buckshot pattern eating up the ground where he used to be. The Punisher stood, propping himself just at the corner of the hall.

The Triad Gunman rounded the corner with the speed of a Jersey Devil, but didn't anticipate The Punisher being _right there_.

The Punisher was too close, and he pressed the integral suppressor of the Honey Badger into the man's throat, tapping a single round off and punching a hole through the hardman's neck.

The man stumbled back, and The Punisher delivered a kick that sent him on his ass.

Behind him, The Punisher heard several footsteps.

Swinging around, he saw at least five Triad gunmen closing in with MP5A2 sub-guns. The Punisher raised the Honey Badger, releasing a trio of slugs into one of their torsos.

The man stumbled back and fell, clutching an in-tact chest.

_All of them are wearing body armor._

The Punisher stepped back and weaved behind the cover of the corner. it had only just occurred to him that the entirety of the Triad's building was still well lit. Probably due to the windows they opened up right after lights went out.

The Punisher heard more footsteps to his left. They were getting ready to surround him.

The Punisher pulled a smoke grenade from his belt, pulled the pin, then tossed it directly in front of him. Within moments, smoke billowed into the hallway, clouding the two troves of gunman's sight.

"Ah, fuck, can't see anything!" One of them shouted.

Another responded; "Just fuckin' light it up! He's gotta be there somewhere!"

The Punisher had crept to the opposite side wall - peering directly through his IR scope. The sight picture was directly on a man's head - and The Punisher pulled the trigger. A single round punched through the man's skull.

The Punisher stepped to the right, getting ready to circle the men.

His next target almost walked right into The Punisher's reticle, and he dropped that man with another squeeze of the trigger.

The others began to scramble from the smoke.

The first who came out emerged to the right of The Punisher, wildly aiming his MP5A2 around. The Punisher switched targets, quickly delivering a one-tap shot to his temple.

A rapport of gunfire surged through the hallway, some of it whizzing right by The Punisher. He ducked to his right, dropped his shoulder and performed a combat roll into the next hallway. The Punisher could hear more and more footsteps barraging that area.

He pulled the one M67 Fragmentation grenade off his belt, yanking the pin, then tossing it into the smoke.

Turning around, The Punisher came face to face with four more Triad gunman.

He brought his Honey Badger level with their chests, sweeping them in full-auto fire - hitting shoulders, body armor, and clipping one man in the neck. While they stumbled, The Punisher bolted forward - letting the Honey Badger drop to his chest.

Ripping his Hi-Power from its holster, The Punisher used his left hand to seize the chin of one of the man, yanking it upward and shoving his Hi-Power into the man's soft under jaw, pulling the trigger and blowing his brains out skyward.

The nearest gunman turned, and The Punisher hauled the body in between the two as he fired a shell of buckshot from a Remington 1100 in the corpse of the other Triad hardman.

Then, an eruption swept through the opposite side of the building, an explosion blowing chunks of debris on the four men duking it out on the other side - obliterating the ten security for the Triad who were still around the smoke area, an explosion that surged out the side of the building and rained debris onto the streets below.

The explosion shook the other three gunmen, and The Punisher placed his right forearm on the corpse shield's chest, squeezing a round into the hardman before his' skull.

The Punisher kicked the corpse and immediately moved left, his handgun rapidly pumping slugs in the other two's direction. The two remaining hardmen had HK53's - beginning to return in fire in a similar messy spray pattern.

The Punisher felt something hot cut through his right shoulder and left thigh, multiple slugs railing his plate carrier, forcing him back into the open doorway that led to the stairwell.

He tripped and began to tumble backwards down a flight of stairs.

One of the gunmen was peppered dead - a bullet in his skull and several more in his chest and arms. The second man only had one hit his chest before his overwhelming fire finally caught The Punisher off balance.

The hardman quickly took cover in form of the wall that led to the doorway. Racking the charging handle back, he pulled it up into the locking position. Taking a spare 40 round magazine from his vest, he used his middle finger, depressing the paddle style magazine release. Flicking the weapon to the side, the magazine ejected, allowing him to slap another straight into the magwell.

The hardman slapped the charging handle down, releasing the bolt, ready to go for another round.

The man peeled around the corner to find the darkness of the stairwell accompanying him. Then, suddenly, a bright, rapid exchange of lights riveted his eyes.

Then, his world collapsed as The Punisher fired a .300 Blackout round straight through his skull.

* * *

The Punisher basically limped up to the tenth floor. The rounds that grazed him still _hurt_, and despite the heavy torso layer he wore, getting hit all the time was still painful. These gangsters loved packing their rounds with extra gunpowder for extra bang - and The Punisher was feeling it right now.

He'd loaded new magazines for both of his guns while in the dark pit of the stairwell, waited for the man, and once he saw him in the sliver of light - dispatched him by way of strobe light and headshot. During the chaos, his IR scope was shredded and rendered useless. The Punisher used the time hauling himself up the stairs to discard the now useless IR sight, the side mounting rail, and just run with the stock irons.

Getting to the tenth floor, The Punisher let the muzzle of his Honey Badger lead again.

Once to the tenth floor, the rapport of a heavy-caliber machine gun began tearing through the walls. The Punisher felt one deflect on his carrier as whoever it was shot through the walls around him. The Punisher flattened himself on the stairs as the continuous burp of a .50 cal reigned.

Then it stopped.

The Punisher groaned as he fished a flashbang from his rig, priming it, then tossing it into the door frame. It was heard tumbling, then erupting in its premier display of light and sound. The Punisher stood, figuring that would be that.

Well, as The Punisher rounded the corner, he soon figured out how wrong he was.

One man sat with an M2HB setup, clutching his head - two more came peeling around the corners at the same time as him. Both carried M249 SAW's. Once the trio locked on to each other, bullets flew.

The Punisher felt his whole left arm go hot as he struggled to quickly move into cover again, letting his own rifle rail .300 Blackout rounds into whatever was in front of him.

The Punisher, once around that bend and using a wall for cover - felt pain dripping down his left arm. Looking at it, he could see another bullet hole - or two - or three had cut their way through him. Two were minor - graze wounds, and a third had found its way through The Punisher's forearm at an odd, canted angle.

The Punisher just dumped the rest of the magazine into the wall in front of him, but-

_Clrrrck_

The gun didn't go off. Looking down, 5.56 rounds had shredded the upper receiver of his Honey Badger, rendering it inoperable.

"Fuck."

The Punisher flung the rifle away, pulling his handgun off his right and holding it out.

_That's not good. I really needed that._

The Punisher heard someone struggling over there, and quickly backed up, going around the opposite bend. Letting his handgun lead the way, The Punisher rounded another corner, seeing the opposite side of the hallway and the stairs leading to the upstairs suite.

The Punisher ripped the gas mask off, tossing it to the ground, then he rounded the corner.

The trio were tending to each other, only one man with hands on his gun, keeping an eye on where they last saw The Punisher.

The Punisher punched a round in the fittest one's skull, watching as the other two looked behind them in shock - only to get a dosage of lead to each skull.

The Punisher holstered the Hi-Power and lumbered over their corpses. Leaning over, The Punisher lifted one of the M249 SAW's off the ground. It still had a solid one hundred and fifty so rounds. The Punisher figured himself lucky that these guys were just gangsters, in one way or another, and not actual trained operatives.

Otherwise, he'd be in a lot more shit than he was right now.

And he was in some shit.

The Punisher slung the M249 onto his shoulder and un-rigged the Honey Badger's magazine pouches from his chest, shedding a decent thirty extra pounds off his torso once they were dropped. Taking his knife, he slashed one of the dead man's jackets and made a makeshift tourniquet to wrap around his left arm - to stifle the blood flow of the irregular wound. The Punisher shouldered the M249 and let the muzzle lead him up to the suite.

* * *

The Punisher approached the open roofed vacation home that Chang used; perched on the top of the Triad's famed tower. There stood Chang, hands openly welcoming The Punisher from about twelve meters away.

He seemed happy, tilting his head to the side and grinning.

"The Punisher! Man, oh man has this been a long time coming!"

The Punisher prepared to pull the trigger on his SAW, ready to end this man here and now.

Then, a gunshot pierced the air - and the M249 The Punisher just acquired.

Chang laughed, shaking his head, settling his hands behind his back. "No, no, I can't let you kill me Castle... But I can't kill you, either. See, there's two people here today that would _really_ like to do that... You killed their friend after all."

From the shadows stepped the edge-lord himself; Lotton the Wizard, one of his M712 Schnellfeuers smoking at the muzzle. "I have come to send you to the shadow realm, Castle. Prepare yourself." From near Chang by a pillar supporting a rooftop bar came the rope-tied, dual kukri wielding woman named Shenhua. The Punisher vaguely recognized them - back in Goof Fest.

The weird man probably wears armor. It's the only way he survived that Desert Eagle to the chest.

"Hello fucking Punisher bitch. We kill you now, okay?"

Chang drew his paired Beretta 76 handguns and pointed them at The Punisher as Lotton did the same with his M712's. Shenhua spun her Kukri's in hands, a sly smile crossing over her face.

The Punisher scoffed, his form relaxing.

_Something to get them pissed off, something to make them stupid._

"I don't even know who you are."

Shenhua's face scrunched, whipping the Kukri above her head and flinging it forward at The Punisher; "Fuck you!" She shouted. The Punisher broke to the left, the gunshots of both Chang and Lotton hot on his tail - but not hot enough as The Punisher dove behind a mini bar.

Springing to his feet, The Punisher ripped the Serbu Shorty off his back and popped up, setting the myriad of figures in his sights and pulling the trigger. One-handing the shotgun probably wasn't the best idea, but he had to cut a corner here.

Buckshot clipped Lotton on his right side, and Chang, his left. Shenhua bolted to the right, around the pillar while spinning a blade above her head. Lotton broke left, ignoring the pain for now and triggering another rapid of gunfire from his left machine pistol, chasing The Punisher.

The Punisher racked his shotgun again and slid to a knee. Chang had ducked out of sight, and Lotton was pushing himself into the open. The Punisher drew the bead, clutching a freshly extended foregrip with his off hand, and placed it right under Lotton's head.

The Punisher pulled the trigger, right as Shenhua emerged three feet to his left, blade at the ready.

The scar of Sawyer's saw was still evident on The Punisher's face, and Shenhua internally gloated at what else she could cut into his face as she whipped her Kukri across The Punisher's cheek bone. A large laceration opened on the left side of his face, and The Punisher forced himself down and to the right.

Dropping the Serbu, the Punisher ripped his Hi-Power from the holster and turned it upwards. Shenhua danced to the left, sweeping a leg across The Punisher's chest and kicking the Hi-Power from his hands.

She stepped back, drawing a Kunai throwing knife and hurling it into The Punisher's left arm.

The Punisher howled in some kind of pain as he forced himself onto his feet with his right hand, his left pulling the knife from his waist-bound scabbard and holding it in front of him. "Come on!" He shouted, bursting forward.

Chang rounded the corner to The Punisher's right, letting off a quick series of gunshots from his Beretta 76. The Punisher felt something hot hit his rib plates, then go through his right forearm, seizing the whole limb with pain.

The Punisher rotated his body to the right, and Chang's next bullet hit The Punisher in the chest as he flung his combat knife flatly - it lodging in Chang's chest right below his heart. Chang tripped backwards, clutching the weapon.

The Punisher used his right, fighting through the pain to grab the knife over his left shoulder and barrel towards Shenhua. She'd never seen a man go through such torment just to kill someone... It was admirable, but foolish, she thought.

Shenhua continued stepping backwards, taking three kunai off her thigh and whipping them at The Punisher. Putting his forearms up, The Punisher took one to the left forearm and two to the vest. The Punisher grabbed one of the knives with his left, throwing them directly back at Shenhua.

Shenhua stepped to her right, swinging one of her Kukri's in a wide, horizontal arc at The Punisher's head. He ducked low and exploded off his legs, lunge-tackling Shenhua at the waist. The two tumbled into the nearby wall, with The Punisher at the bottom.

Shenhua recovered quicker, taking her right hand, she drove a backhand across The Punisher's face. She was more crouched over him than actually on top of him, but the strain was still the same. The Punisher rose his left leg, kicking the back of Shenhua's legs. She fell to elbows and knees, and The Punisher rolled towards her, wrapping his arms around her neck and propping himself behind her.

The Punisher's grip was like a vice, constricting her airflow in a premeditated, python way. Shenhua lashed out, driving her elbow into The Punisher's rib plates on his vest. The Punisher heaved a cough, but constricted even tighter, and running a heavy blow with his right fist into Shenhua's jaw.

The Punisher had his left coiled around her neck, the right being the brace to keep the hold. He gripped the back of Shenhua's neck with his left, then taking his right and gripping Shenhua's hair. She scratched at his hands, but to no avail as the physically superior Punisher violently slammed Shenhua's face into the concrete floor.

Her form bucked, and The Punisher did it again.

"Fuck you!"

She screamed as The Punisher slammed her face into the pavement a third time.

Then, a hot flashing sensation raced across the left side of his skull, being thrown into the wall beside him. Looking up as blood dribbled from his face, The Punisher saw Lotton using The Punisher's Serbu Shorty as a club - having promptly whacked The Punisher upside the head with the weapon.

The Punisher's muscles screamed in protest as he launched himself forward, spear-tackling Lotton from his position, sprawling them both on the ground.

The Punisher latched onto the shotgun and rolled away from Lotton. He pumped it, the old shell flinging out, and one of two remaining loading into it. The Punisher aimed it at Lotton as he sat up, turning to face The Punisher.

"No..."

He mumbled, but the Punisher pulled the trigger. This time, _he wouldn't miss, or hit Lotton's vest_.

This time, Lotton's grey-haired head erupted in a spray of bone, brain matter and blood - his torso promptly flopping on the ground after the grisly execution. The Punisher racked the shotgun's pump again, moving to his feet.

To his right, Chang was slowly getting to his feet. He opened his mouth to say something, but The Punisher simply rose the shotgun, punching the twelve gauge shell into his chest, flinging him backwards into his resort pool.

The Punisher racked the pump back to the empty shotgun.

"Ha... You out of ammo muddafucka... Say... I fuck you... You let me go, okay? I very hot, yes? Or I pay you mister Castle?"

The Punisher was going to reach for his shotgun shell, but opted otherwise. He stepped closer to Shenhua, the woman slowly backtrodding as he lumbered over her.

"Yeah. Pay me. Now."

Shenhua stared at him with some wild eyes, confused at his response. Her face was torn somewhat - blood ebbed from her broken nose, and scars from the rough pattern concrete used for poolside life tattered the once, probably attractive woman. Hell, she still was, really.

She slowly regained her footing, not quite finding the words to say.

The Punisher whipped the pistol grip across Shenhua's face in a blurring movement, using the Serbu Shorty like a bat and rocking the woman to the side, sprawling her on the ground.

"No. I won't take your body or your money, you filthy piece of shit."

The Punisher looked at Chang and Lotton. They, too, were gangsters and criminal scum like her. Shenhua continued crawling away.

The Punisher pulled a shell from his thigh, loading it in the open breech of the shotgun. He walked to her right side, and as Shenhua looked up at him with a broken jaw to plea, The Punisher delivered a kick to her throat, reducing Shenhua to a lumpy, bleeding, heaving mess, trying to beg for mercy or cuss him out.

The Punisher racked the pump forward and pointed the muzzle at Shenhua. He leaned it in, pressing it to her head and tilting it up. Shenhua's glassy eyes stared up at The Punisher's cold ones.

"When you go to hell, tell your chainsaw bitch I said hello."

Shenhua opened her mouth to retort, but The Punisher pulled the trigger of his Serbu Shorty, macerating her skill in a flurry of blood, bone, flesh and black hair. Her body flopped to the ground, blood pooling from the cavern left where he face used to be.

The Punisher racked the pump, leaving the breech open, loading the Serbu with the remaining shells he had, leaving one in the rack. He slotted the Serbu into its back holster.

The Punisher took the throwing knives remaining in his arm and chest, removing them and dropping them to the ground.

Slowly, pained and dazed, The Punisher gathered his combat knives...

One on the ground...

Actually, Chang can keep the one in his chest.

He'd take back his Hi-Power, though.

* * *

The Punisher arrived at the maintenance elevator. He'd never applied so many combat stitches and staples to himself - but today was a new record. Gunshots to the arms, forearm, leg, and a deep cut at his cheekbone and a mild concussion from Lotton whacking his head with the shotgun.

The Punisher was wrapped in bandages, and now he had to _get out_ of this shithole. Because he knew all too well that there would be a homecoming party - he could already hear the militarized vehicles of Hotel Moscow rolling up around the Triad's tower.

The Punisher didn't know, but Chang had called in his reserve forces before The Punisher had even gotten up there. So, as the Punisher pulled the duffel bag from the maintenance elevator for use, men were already going through the war zone of a lobby.

_That's fine._

The Punisher set out the USAS-12, the magazines, drums, and magazine rigs for his vest. The Punisher began pulling the Kevlar forearm guards - something he wish he had fighting those three, and began assembling his better battle loadout.

From head to toe, The Punisher was kitted in Kevlar padding. His shins, thighs, groin, chest, forearms, shoulders, and even his face had Kevlar protection. In The Punisher's hands - A USAS-12 combat shotgun. Fully loaded with one of the four 20 round drums the Punisher owned. He knew he wasn't getting out of this easy, so that's why he packed such a powerful punch.


	14. Swarm, Ch14

At the base of the tower, the assembly of gunmen could hear as the war stopped on top of it. Balalaika and Boris had pulled four trucks of men on-scene as others in their pimped rides arrived, or just by foot. Mercs who wanted a payday in reasonable kits with tactical gear, or multitudes of gangsters with a bone to pick were there. Glocks, Steyr L-A1s, Colt 2000s, M9s, AKMs, RK 62s, FN SCAR-SCs, Ithaca 37's, and multitudes of others were all packed in the streets.

One man in particular - hefty, black, and full of muscle stepped from a topless sports car into the streets. The man grinned, the words 'Fuck You' imprinted on the top and bottom rows of his teeth, respectively. He wore a black tank top, multicam trousers, combat boots and a basic ammo rig on his chest consisting of three AK sleeves for his PM md. 90 Carbine.

The big man pulled the carbine from his car and slung it over his shoulder. From that same car, he pulled an M79 grenade launcher and slung it over the opposite shoulder. He sniffed the air as the commuters swarmed in the building after The Punisher, who was sure to kill all the ones who rushed him. The experienced ones - black tactical gear, another in some urban camouflage began discussing their strategy by their respective vehicles.

The big black man wondered over to the two tactical teams, clapping his hands loudly to catch their attention.

"What's up, muthafuckas? Y'all fools need The Barracuda! 'Cause the Barracuda's got a plan!"

Barracuda would falsify a plan; saying he'd support a pronged assault to catch the Punisher off guard. In reality, he'd just let them tire him out - so Barracuda can sweep in for the kill.

* * *

The Punisher could hear the boots coming for him up the East side staircase in the building. Looking down, he could see straight to the bottom. Down there; dozens of gangsters and small timers were thundering up. The Punisher limped down until he reached the seventh floor, where he could hear them coming up to the fifth.

_So, all of them were coming up this side to get him?_

_How convenient._

The Punisher had re-stocked his explosive equipment using his bag. From it; grenades of two types. Fragmentation and Flashbang.

Pulling a fragmentation grenade out, he yanked the pin and tossed it down the set of stairs to the incoming at the sixth floor. He heard a mewl of panic, then an explosion.

The Punisher careened around the corner as fast as he could with his injured, adrenaline driven body. Men were spattered everywhere, but some were still trying to move up on the sixth floor platform. Squeezing the trigger to the USAS-12, shotshells chugged from the automatic shotgun, punching tight patterns of buckshot into unsuspecting fools rushing up the stairs.

Ten rounds down, The Punisher trotted through the bodies and moved to peer down the stairway. Men were stacked up, and The Punisher squeezed the trigger - churning out a hellfire of more twelve gauge into the now fleeing gangsters on the stairs. Bodies dropped, and many chests and skulls had been perforated by the swarm of buckshot The Punisher had laid.

The Punisher stepped back, ducking behind the concrete railing. He fingered the magazine release, flipping the empty drum out to the right. The Punisher's left hand pushed into one of four taco pouches and fished another twenty round drum, slotting it into the gun's magwell. Reaching forward, The Punisher pulled the charging handle back, loading the first round.

Pulling the USAS to his shoulder, The Punisher progressed down the stairs to find the gaggle standing over a few of the ones who were injured. The Punisher was just barely peeking around the corner to the fifth floor. He pulled a second fragmentation grenade, pulled the pin, then chucked it into the gaggle of them.

A panicked voice rang out and they began to scram.

The Punisher peeked around the corner and held the trigger to his USAS-12, sweeping the automatic shotgun across their squirming, scared bodies and filling them with buckshot.

The drum ran dry and about thirteen bodies dropped, some still breathing, others caught by the ones falling down. The Punisher retracted as men shouted death throes - only for them to be snuffed out by an explosion that blew them to bits. The Punisher rounded the corner, shotgun raised, only to see the aftermath.

Bodies were blown to pieces, with bits of skull, guts, muscle and a whole lot of blood splattered on the walls, ceiling, and flooring; some of which had been torn through - a water pipe sprayed into the stairs from being ruptured. The Punisher swapped out another drum - empty for a full, yanking back the charging handle once they'd been replaced to load the first round.

He pushed down into the fourth floor where they'd spread out a bit more in the stairs. As he moved down, three came up, and The Punisher was quicker on the draw. Holding down the trigger, he let the USAS chug four rounds into the three, the last man catching two to the chest and spilling his innards onto the floor.

The Punisher walked over the corpses and peered down to the fourth floor platform where a few more were coming up. Rifles, shotguns, kind of moving coherently - but they were still gangsters. Nothing new, yet.

_Perhaps i'd be let out a bit easier than I was let in. _

Triggering the USAS, he swept across the group of five, starting by chopping the first man in half with two shots to the waist. Recoil carried to the next man, punching through his diaphragm and flooring him, another shot clipping his shoulder and hitting the man behind him in the face.

The Punisher controlled the recoil, pulling the weapon down as the next shot rung off, blowing through the fourth man's chest. The last man had a Mac-10 ready, beginning to spray rounds up the stairs. The chipped at the wall to his left, and The Punisher carried the next two shots into the man - one shell blowing off his right forearm and the second catching him in the throat.

The Punisher triggered a last round into the man's chest and floored him with his four friends, bleeding out, dead. The Punisher moved down to the fourth platform, aiming the USAS to the central hall that had the hotel rooms. Three men stood in there, guns drawn, pointing in his direction.

They all chattered, and The Punisher fired in response.

Two shots in and his drum ran dry.

The Punisher felt something hit his chest as he maneuvered to the side of the entrance, stepping into cover. The Punisher dropped the USAS to his chest and pulled the Browning Hi Power from its holster and peered around the corner. He quickly ducked back into cover as someones RK 62 chipped at the wall and floor.

Quickly, the Punisher pulled a flashbang from a pouch, yanked the pin, then chucked it a short distance into the room. Moments later, it erupted in a flash of white light.

The Punisher rounded the corner, witnessing one of them dazed and confused from the flash, the other one pulling his eyes from the crook of his elbow to meet the Punisher's eyes through his bullet proof mask. The third man had caught the two shells The Punisher used before he ran out of ammunition.

The Punisher and the man aimed and fired at the same time.

A round hit The Punisher in the chest, and a round hit the gunner in the neck. The Punisher quickly tapped the trigger again, finding a home in the man's skull as he flopped backwards.

The Punisher changed targets and drove two rounds into the next man's head - who, too, had an RK 62.

The Punisher stepped forward, eventually finding himself standing over the man he hit with the two buckshot shells from his USAS.

The man was dead.

The Punisher shoved the Browning into its holster, pulled the USAS from his chest and swapped for his third drum.

Fingering the release, the old drum dropped to the ground - he slotted the new one in from a taco pouch, then yanked back on the charging handle. The Punisher brought it up to his shoulder and moved into, then down the opposite staircase.

Landing on the third platform, The Punisher peeked around the corner to see men in emplacements with urban camouflage, holding what looked to be B&T GHM9s. They each had magazines clipped to the ones already in the guns, and their carrier rigs had them paired that way too.

One of them aimed at him, and The Punisher retreated around the corner as several nine millimeter rounds were drilled into the corner of the door he was just at. The Punisher heard one of them key a microphone - "He's here! Dragon, come up!"

From downstairs, The Punisher could hear as men began to push up. Pulling a frag grenade from his rig, he pulled the pin and chucked it down the flight of stairs. Immediately after, a man rounded the stairway entrance with his GHM9 drawn. The Punisher whipped his right hand out and pushed the gun off center line as the man pulled the trigger, nine mils eating up the stairs instead of The Punisher's face.

The Punisher shot his right leg out and hit the man below his knee.

He yanked the GHM9 to his right side, swinging his left hand up and hooking it around the man's wrist and turning at his core.

The man's GHM9 came from his fingers as he hobbled backwards, moving to draw his secondary.

Stepping back, The Punisher shouldered the GHM9 and held down the trigger - 9x19 rounds stitching up the mans chest and head - the 30 round magazine dumping faster than The Punisher could track. He dropped the sub-gun and pulled his USAS from his chest.

From the stairs opposite of where The Punisher stood, two men moved up with FN-SCAR-SCs in their hands. Which model, 5.56 or .300 Blackout, he couldn't tell, but they drew on him and began firing.

The Punisher backed up the stairs as he swept their area with his USAS-12. The Punisher felt a few rounds hit his vest - he'd swapped out the old plates for new ones during his refit, so they'd hold to the torture.

His USAS didn't have much effect - the pair had retracted down to the stairs' cover before his buckshot could do anything.

_They had training._

The Punisher moved up the stairs, running the idea of a flank through his mind. Rounding the fourth floor platform, he could see two of the urban camouflaged men moving - guns raised. The Punisher fired a hair before the first man did, punching him in the plate with a twelve gauge shotshell.

The second man opened fire, a burst of five nine millimeter rounds spurting onto The Punisher's own plate carrier.

The Punisher dove to his left as the man held down the trigger, a round skinning The Punisher's leg.

On his left side, The Punisher triggered a duo of shots, punching the man's left leg inwards at the knee, the second hitting the man in the groin, dropping him to his back.

The first man got to his knees and pulled his handgun out - a Glock 17 - aiming it at The Punisher. He was faster, and The Punisher punched a shell through the man's skull, splattering it over the wall.

The Punisher stood up, fingering the magazine release and dropping the drum magazine, grabbing one of the yellow-painted box magazines on his carrier and slotting it into the magwell. Finally, The Punisher limped over to the final man - who had blood flowing from his destroyed groin and knee.

The man looked up into the Punishers eyes, face covered by a ballistic mask, chest covered with a tattered skull.

_It'd be the last thing this man sees._

The Punisher leveled his USAS and fired the last buckshot round through the mans skull, spilling his mushy brains on the carpet. Behind, the Punisher heard footsteps and turned around to see the final urban camo-tailored man soaring up the stairs - the two with SCAR-SC's directly behind him.

The man triggered a burst with his GHM9 before The Punisher could use some of his special munitions, stitching four rounds in his chest and one in The Punishers head. He flopped back - the face mask taking the round to his right cheek and deflecting it.

On his back, The Punisher scrunched his legs tight and pulled the shotgun to his shoulder.

Squeezing the weapons trigger, a flurry of yellow and white fire erupted from the barrel of his USAS, streaking through the air and clinging to the man he aimed at - setting the man on fire.

The Punisher rocked to a sitting position, using his offhand to manually cycle the USAS.

Dragons Breath rounds had the tendency to not be able to cycle in automatic shotguns due to their light loads, and the USAS was no different. The Punisher triggered another flurry of Dragons Breath, soaking the first man in magnesium shards yet again.

The other two men moved clear of the burning man, moving to his side and spraying a combined burst of their carbines at The Punisher.

The Punisher sprung up to his left and barreled through a closed door - leading to a hotel room. Luckily, it had emptied out due to the commotion he caused earlier. Turning around, The Punisher kept his sights on the doorway he just entered. One of them appeared, and The Punisher fired a Dragons Breath round again, dousing the air in magnesium shards and obscuring vision.

The Punisher rolled over a couch to his right and landed in the center of what looked to be a living room setup. Hanging the USAS from his chest, The Punisher yanked an M82 off his vest and pulled the pin, throwing it down the corridor - it bouncing off the wall he was looking at and rolling into the hallway.

The Punisher pulled a fragmentation grenade moments after, pulling the pin and hurling it into the hallway right after the flashbang. The flashbang detonated - then the fragmentation grenade, shooting debris into the room and tearing the walls and flooring apart outside of the room.

The Punisher vaulted over the couch again. Once he landed, he racked the charging handle to the USAS and loaded the next incendiary shell. Peeling around the corner, he could feel the give in the floor beneath him. Around him, he could see the carnage of the frag, but no bodies. As he stepped further out in the hallway, sounds behind him drew interest.

The Punisher swept his gun around to view the two all-black mercs standing there with SCAR-SC's ready. Just as they made contact, the floor gave out beneath The Punisher, sending him crashing down to the next floor.

The Punisher felt pain shoot up his left leg when he landed, sprawled out on the floor. Above him, he could see half of the fourth floor had caved in with him. Slowly, he hauled himself to a knee just to see the men above peel around the corner before him.

Groping around him, The Punisher pulled up his USAS and hip fired at the two, incendiary flare streaking in the air and blinding the two momentarily.

Tossing the USAS, he dug underneath a body from the carnage earlier to find a firearm underneath, finding an MP7. He yanked it up and moved to his left, spraying the 4.7 millimeter personal defense weapon in a flurry.

The weapon ran dry, and The Punisher leaped through a window into a board room - shattered earlier by the gunfire exchanged in this area. He landed, rolled, and moved towards the far window. Inside, there was a weapon left on the table.

The Punisher remembered the man who only came out with a Glock who had left his primary.

On the table was an MP5A2, left by the man from earlier.

Turning around, The Punisher dropped to prone and waited.

Moments later, two men peeled into the room with their SCAR-SC's leading the way.

They didn't see the black figure in the corner of the room.

The Punisher squeezed the trigger, nine millimeter rounds burping from the gun and shredding the pairs legs from the thigh down, causing them to collapse to the ground.

The Punisher moved to kneel, the men clawing at their legs - and their sidearms, the Steyr L-A1. The Punisher walked over to them, his MP5 raised and leveled at their heads. He put a burst in one, then a burst in the other.

Dropping the MP5A2, The Punisher knelt down and pulled a Steyr L-A1 from the first mans holster.

The Punisher enacted a change-out of his lower capacity Browning Hi Power, something some people would consider controversial due to the Hi-Powers age and status.

But, The Punisher wasn't concerned with status and age.

He wanted capacity.

The Steyr had 17 per magazine, and the Hi-Power had 13.

He took the suppressor from the Hi-Power and pocketed it after he'd swapped three magazines out.

Standing up, The Punisher drew his Steyr L-A1 and let the muzzle lead as he moved into the hall. Deeming it clear, The Punisher holstered the handgun and picked up his USAS. Fingering the magazine release, The Punisher pulled his remaining drum from the fourth taco pouch and slotted it into the magwell.

He yanked the charging handle, ejecting the unspent incendiary shell and loading buckshot.

The Punisher moved down, the grenade he dropped had killed the other two black uniformed mercs.

The second floor was clear, and The Punisher moved for the lobby.

The Punisher remembered these steps. Red velvet in color, dripping with the boot print of the past thirty minutes of slaughter that occurred in this tower. As he moved down the stairs, he heard a cackle come from his left, by the front desk. The Punisher turned, seeing a massive dark-skinned man with a Romanian Ak standing there, gun already aimed.

"Mister Punisher! Nice to meet ya!"

The big man triggered his AK.

* * *

Barracuda laughed as his rounds punched into the wall around The Punisher from his PM md. 90, The Punisher throwing himself to the floor of the stairs to avoid fire. When Barracuda ran out, he knelt behind the desk, Just from sound alone, he could tell The Punisher had stood up and began raining shotshells with his automatic shotgun down at the counter. Barracuda could hear the buckshot punching into it, around it, and over it.

The torrent stopped two seconds later, and Barracuda sprung up, laying a sweeping wave of fire at The Punisher, who was caught reloading. Two rounds struck The Punisher in the chest as Barracuda swept across the room, knocking him back with the 7.62x39 power.

The Barracuda dropped his md. 90 and pulled the M79 grenade launcher off his opposite shoulder, aiming it above where The Punisher was staggering. With a big grin, Barracuda triggered the grenade launcher, flinging the 40 Millimeter grenade up into the wall The Punisher was crouched under. Concussive force hit the man like a brick, metal and concrete shards spattering all over the man as he was forced face first into the floor.

Barracuda laughed, dropping the grenade launcher and pulling a machete from a sheathe on his waist.

"Big Punisher man, come on! I heard y'were better than these stupid niggas in Roanapur, but you can't beat a nigga like me? That... Sounds about right!"

The Punisher pushed himself off the ground to see the lumbering man trotting towards him.

He reached for his Steyr.

"Oh, fuck no!"

Barracuda closed the distance incredibly fast, driving the toe of his boot into The Punishers face-mask, flinging him backwards into a wall. With his machete, Barracuda whipped it across Punishers face, slicing through the mask and sending it careening off to the side.

Blood dripped from Punishers face, a wound over his forehead freshly drizzling blood from Barracudas machete, and a wound on his cheek from the face mask deflecting a nine mil earlier.

Barracuda laughed, raising his machete over his head.

"Gawd damn Cavella'll love this!"

Four gunshots rung out, and Barracuda staggered back, clutching his chest. The Punisher had pulled the L-A1 from his thigh holster, shot Barracuda once in the leg, then three times in the torso.

Barracuda appeared bewildered, clutching his chest, blood seeping from it,

"Nigga... That's fucked up.."

Punisher triggered another round through Barracudas chest, dropping him to the ground.

The Punisher hauled himself to his feet, slowly. Once he was to his feet, the man pushed his L-A1 into the right thigh holster, picked up his USAS from the floor and pulled the sling around his shoulders. Taking a fresh ten round box magazine from one of his magazine pouches, he slotted it into the USAS and racked the charging handle, loading first of ten.

Glancing around him, The Punisher began to hobble towards the back entrance to finally leave this place...

Though, there'd definitely be a slew of enemies outside, too.

Just more bodies to drop.

* * *

Once The Punisher left, Barracuda groaned, slowly pushing himself to sit up. Using his off hand, he wiped the blood seeping from his chest, shaking his head.

"Fuck, that hurts."


	15. Mayhem, Ch15

His body felt like it was about to fail.

The Punisher had bitten off more than he could chew before, but this was a whole different situation. His head felt light and his legs were heavy. Every step was a grueling hour, but The Punisher pushed on.

The alleyway was clear, at least.

At the mouth of the alley, Punisher could hear the reports of shouting from the various mercenaries that had just arrived, and the Russians coordinating everything on site. They likely didn't know he'd gotten out the back.

The Punisher stopped at the alley's mouth, letting the USAS hang from it's sling. Firm hands gripped around a yellow smoke grenade and a fragmentation grenade. Chucking one after the other, billowing yellow smoke clouded a now panicking group of mercenaries and a watchful group of Russians.

The fragmentation grenade erupted, taking two nearby vehicles with it in flames and flaying seven men flailing in the smoke.

The Punisher didn't wait, mustering the rest of his stamina to bolt around the right bend and to the parking garage. His van, hopefully, had been unnoticed in the slew of Southeast Asian vehicle variety. He didn't get far before he heard more gunshots.

Instinctively, The Punisher dropped his left shoulder and rolled behind a SUV as bullets chipped up the asphalt of where he was. Peeking up over the engine block, The Punisher trained the sights of his USAS on the chest of a Merc who'd come running wild after him. There were others, but this one will bite first.

Squeezing the trigger, a tight pattern of buckshot perforated the man's chest and sent him spinning away to the left.

Others began to scramble for cover upon the realization that he'd started returning fire. The Punisher was faster, and his sights were placed on the torso of a vest wearing Merc. No plates, no Kevlar, just a rig.

The Punisher walked a shell into the man, recoiling his body across the pavement.

"Six."

The Punisher whispered to himself.

Someone else tripped over the recently disposed of merc, and The Punisher trailed his sight on the man, squeezing the trigger a third time and putting his brains on display over the pavement.

"Five."

There were more surging through the entrance. Russians and mercs alike. Almost at once, the mass seemed to recognize where The Punisher is. He ducked down as a rapport of gunfire swept the SUV and asphalt around it.

The gunfire stopped after six seconds, and The Punisher pulled another frag grenade from his kit - pulled the pin, then chucked it over the engine block to where he heard the shots.

Punisher broke left and let his muzzle lead. At the back end of the van, he swept the muzzle left. Two mercs were moving up the side between cars and the concrete barrier separating the platform from four foot drop.

The Punisher triggered first, running a single round into the first hardman's midsection and throwing him into the second. Letting the automatic fire walk the second round, it tore a large, fist sized chunk of flesh out from the second's neck.

"Three."

The two fell sprawled on the ground, one clinging at his guts and the second trying to contain the profuse bleeding from his neck.

An explosion rocked the garage as his grenade went off, shredding several more men and igniting an idle car. The Punisher turned around and broke into a jog, the torment behind him playing in a macabre duet of screams and car alarms.

Punisher made it about twenty feet before the gunfire kicked up again. Bullets ripped through windshields and car doors around him, one of them clipping the back plate on his vest and almost sending him off balance.

He moved to kneel, then put himself prone and on the ground. Bullets flew over him like angry flies, shredding more and more doors, chassis and bodies. Punisher crept along the ground, pushing and pulling with his elbows and knees until he came to the front end of a truck. Peering around it's tire, Punisher laid on his left side and aimed the USAS at an incoming small cluster of men. There were far more behind them, but this would suffice.

Punisher squeezed the trigger, the USAS-12 chugging in response. It punched the first shell into a man's diaphragm. He flattened on the ground, gaping aimlessly into the sky. The second trailed automatically, drilling buckshot through a second man's chest. The Punisher walked the remaining three shells into three more targets, flaying them open on the pavement.

"Empty."

Rolling to his back and springing to his feet, Punisher made sure to keep his head low as he ran back to the barrier of the garage. Bullets chased him, shredding cars and the barrier all alike. But he was gone from that spot before they could hit him.

The Punisher used his right index finger to detach the magazine, his left hand guiding it into an empty taco pouch for storage and keeping. These were hard to come by. Taking a new magazine from a pouch, Punisher rocked it into the open magazine well, then racked the charging handle on the handguard.

"Eight."

He muttered, keeping his speed up as he ran. Punisher's body still ached with every movement. He needed to get to his van fast.

More bullets ricocheted around him. The back end of the garage cornered right, with several more cars lining that side. But there'd be an open field of fire between every car for them to hit him through.

Punisher thought to the future for a moment, then as he rounded the corner, pulled the USAS to his shoulder and aimed it at the angry fray of shooters headed his way. Holding the trigger down, a storm of buckshot ripped through six targets before the gun went dry.

Moving to the first car, Punisher repeated the loading process. Despite the hailstorm of bullets that shredded the ground and the car, he remained calm, removing and replacing the magazine and jerking the cocking handle to load the first of eight shells.

The Punisher broke into a run, bullets trailing behind his tired body. Something hot skinned his leg, and he stumbled, careening into a tumble before he came to rest halfway between his van and where he'd run from.

Rolling on his left side, he could see a flurry of feet and shins from the view under a vehicle. Bringing the USAS up, The Punisher unleashed another barrage of buckshot, shredding several feet and shins in it's spray. He pushed off his left arm to propel up him, limping on the first step, gradually moving back into a run as more pained screams emanated from behind him.

The Punisher ripped the old magazine out, shoving it into a taco pouch and tearing another fresh one. He had four left, including this one.

Then he'd have to resort to the Serbu's final shells, or the handgun he scavenged from the mercs in the tower. That would be worst case scenario.

That, and not making it to his van.

Racking the cocking handle, The Punisher pushed on.

It didn't take long for more of them to catch up. More bullets rapped across the surfaces around him as he got closer and closer. It seemed none of them recognized the fact he had a van, yet, which was good.

It meant he's been low key enough to stay undetected unless he wanted to be.

The Punisher turned at one car and glanced to the swarm of forty something mercs and Russians on his heels. He triggered one shell into one body before the rest responded in an angry haze.

Punisher ducked low and weaved, eventually getting to the passenger side of the van. It seemed like they thought he continued, as bullets began to shred the next set of cars during Punisher's entrance to his van.

Clambering across the seat, he moved to the back compartment and ditched the USAS on the floor. The M2HB in the back had been armored with a shield, similar to those on middle eastern technicals - mounted on the gun. He racked the charging handle, loading the first of two hundred fifty .50 BMG rounds into the heavy machine gun.

Outside, Duran Kaid had no clue what was waiting for him. A large black man had ushered him forward. He looked like he'd been chewed up by a few rounds, however was unaffected. Duran didn't know how, but he didn't think too much on the guy. He was seven foot easy and held an M60 like it was a toy.

Duran was with a few other bandits of Roanapur. Some big man with a SPAS and a few others, some Japanese machine gun guys with bandannas and a few AK-74 wielding Russians. This, and the surplus of other gangsters and mercs had moved in troves behind them.

His greasy hair hung low around his temples, and Duran clutched his Uzi with a wiry fist, that despite it's appearance, was quite fit. The last they saw of the Punisher was him going behind some white sedan, a black utility van, and a blue set of office cars the Triad once used.

Not anymore though.

Cause the Punisher killed all of them

Duran loomed close with the big SPAS guy, a bit anxious since the last time a silence came over this group, The Punisher tore about twelve shins and feet off with an automatic buckshot spray. Duran recognized the chug of a USAS-12, and was damn scared to go against it.

But the payday was over one million for his head, now.

Straight from the Ivan bitch, Balalaika.

Mind full of money, Duran pressed on with an eager tenseness.

The spas man walked close to the black van. "I thinks I saw something move innit!" The man barked, waving his Spas across the back door.

Duran didn't have time to look as the doors whipped open - almost hydraulically - and the heavy chug of a fifty caliber machine gun replaced the silent air. Duran sprayed nine millimeter across a tan tinted shield that spanned the whole bottom and sides of the in place machine gun - to little affect.

He watched as the big Scot had his leg ripped off and chest spilled open like a can of beans from two bullets tearing through his body. More fifty cals began shredding the rest of the men, cutting several in half and taking whole parts of bodies apart with the manic spray.

Duran didn't even feel the fifty caliber slug tear through his sternum, then a second one ripping a chunk from the right side of his skull.

The Punisher didn't let up. The rapport of fifty caliber chewed through dozens of mercs and Russians alike in the first seconds following his unveil. Walking the bullets from one target to another, guts, bones and flesh were flayed across his view. The ground was already slick with blood, the bodies stacking in pieces across the garage.

The ones that his behind cars weren't safe either. Fifty caliber chewed through engine blocks and steel like butter, punching holes in whoever his behind them with dismembering results.

It's steady chug didn't stop, The Punisher leading rounds from one target to another. A Russian bit the dust, his right arm being torn from it's shoulder, leaving him to flail on the ground as The Punisher scythed through five more targets. Bringing the gun around again, he walked two slugs into the Russian's abdomen and chest, ripping each almost in half.

The sweeping fire began cutting through back lines of men. More men were cut in half as some struggled to return in fire. Again, people behind vehicles were perforated lethally through their faux barriers.

The gun ran dry, and for a moment, the world held still. The Punisher took in the scene before him; almost seventy corpses had been ripped apart in front of them. Many of them had organs flung from their body, or torn apart as a whole. Several had intestines, shredded and intact alike spread across the pavement. More than a dozen had cracked craniums that spewed equal parts blood and brain.

The Punisher took the scene in for a few moments before grasping his M32 grenade launcher from the gun rack in the back. Beside it was his Ultimax 100.

Flicking off the safety, he aimed to the furthest back line of men that were slowly, fearfully trekking their way up to the numerous dissected corpses. The Punisher triggered two incendiary shells, blowing hot thermobaric explosives across two clusters of men by vehicles. Explosions and screams followed as The Punisher dumped the last four grenades into the same area. Loaded with tear gas, the milky white gas swept across the large group.

The Punisher didn't waste any time slamming the doors shut to his van, hauling himself in the front seat, and careening it out of that garage.

Several road bumps clogged the path on the way out.

His van lurched to sixty miles per hour quickly. The crooked cops in the town would be hot on his trail, along with whatever mercs and criminals were still coming for him. He'd suped up this van, with engine mods and armored paneling. It could withstand a lot of damage before going down and out run plenty of normal vehicles.

Punisher could see cars in his rear view, plenty with men hanging out the windows, guns chattering uselessly at the pavement around his van. Swerving left through an intersection, he came to a wide, open road. There were a few cars still behind him, a Pontiac GTO, an open cab jeep, some kind of dune buggy, and a four door sedan.

In that Pontiac GTO, Rock had his head tucked into the collar of his shirt. Tight in his mouth, the man had a lit cigarette. Benny opted not to venture on this suicide run, instead going across Roanapur to stay with Jane until this all swept over. In the passenger side sat Revy, dual Berettas strapped into their respective shoulder rigs. In her lap sat an AKM, and tossed at her feet - an M79 grenade launcher.

Behind her sat Dutch, Remington Magnum shotgun in hand. "Alright Revy! You're gonna get what you want, then we get the fuck out, got it?!"

"Hey Dutch, don't get so damn worried! We'll fucking kill this guy once and for all! Right here!"

Dutch didn't know about that. This same man just went up and down through a tower of Roanapur's finest and then some. Hong Kong Triad, Hotel Moscow, Mercs, The Barracuda - despite him still being alive - and many others from outside and inside Roanapur had all met their end at the barrel of Frank Castle's barrel.

Rock pressed further on the pedal, the GTO leaping forward in tandem with the other three vehicles after the skull wearing vigilante.

Rock glanced over to the dune buggy. A man had clambered onto a real mount, grabbing hold of what looked to be a positioned M240B. He, dressed in woodland fatigues with loose bandoleers, racked the M240B and began chattering rounds. Sparks and ricochets flickered off the van as The Punisher swerved it left to right, then cut a sharp left into another street.

Rock careened the car in a drift, screeching across the intersection side by side with the buggy. The Jeep pulled up to their right and hauled ass, coming close to the side of the Punisher's van. One man moved to the back of the cabin, holding what appeared to be some Chinese AK variant.

The Punisher's van lurched back, and three gunshots barked from it's right window. The gunman and his driver of the Jeep jerked violently, swerving off to the right and crashing into a building.

Revy grit her teeth and leaned out her window, as did Dutch. "Shit!" Dutch yelled, lining up his Remington Magnum Shotgun with the back of the left tire. "I hope you kill this fucker, Revy!"

Dutch let his shotgun roar. The back left tire fluttered in an array of rubber, and the other gunners caught wind. The Buggy's machine gunner and Revy both tore rounds into the back right tire.

Sparks flew up from the rear tire spools as the van began to skid, propelled by it's inertia.

The four door sedan had a man crawl through the window halfway. Revy couldn't tell the type of machine gun from this angle, but the rapport began to tear more paint off the bullet proof back panels that all four of them were laying waste into.

The Punisher's van careened to the left, and the gunner strafed the side, it's driver ramming the left side of Punisher's van simultaneously. The roaring sound of buckshot echoed in the mass of gunfire, which stopped moments after. The Punisher had shot the gunner of the buggy as he was being rammed.

The van flipped on its side and ran top first into a building. The sedan and Lagoon's GTO came to a halt behind the buggy. One man crawled out, then two from the buggy, each dressed in the same woodland fatigues with old styled kit. AKMs in hand, they moved to the back door of the van.

When they got there, neither of them were very far from the doors when they sprung open. Revy, as she emerged from the GTO, witnessed as a fifty caliber machine gun opened up into the two. Three rounds tore through the first man, ripping open his abdomen, chest, then lopping off the left side of his head in half a second. The next man barely shot before his right leg was torn from his body, diaphragm speared, chest in-caved and the entirety of his mouth was ripped open by the same fifty caliber power.

"Fuck."

Revy heard herself say as she drew her AK. Bolting from the van came a black clad figure, face twisted in a permanent scowl of hatred and anger, his torso covered in the iconic skull that spelled death to all miscreants.

Revy didn't waste time in identifying his gun. The Ultimax 100 Mk8 loaded with a Beta-C drum magazine. It chugged the rounds at a low rate of fire. Rock ducked behind the dashboard, rounds piercing the GTO and clipping Dutch in the right shoulder as he tumbled out. Revy bolted to the right, spraying with her AKM and chipping up the concrete around The Punisher.

He changed course, hosing Revy as she dove behind a parked pedestrian's vehicle. Charging directly at Dutch, he brought his shotgun up to shoot the Punisher, who had already closed the distance. 5.56 tore through the car, Rock could be seen spilling from the passenger side.

Dutch felt another hot surge on his right arm and fired blindly. The _whump_ of his shot hitting The Punisher in the vest, followed by him stumbling into the car confirmed his suspicions.

Dutch stood up, racking his shotgun as he witnessed The Punisher dropping a mangled machine gun, vest noticeably more tattered than it was before. Dutch heard a rapport of machine gun fire to his left, turning just in time to see the men from the sedan had finally tumbled out to begin laying fire at the Punisher.

Dutch ducked, trying not to get hit and moved to the other side of the car. The Punisher bolted back to his van, spraying a Micro Uzi he had over his thigh back at the men.

The big black man peered over at the others, weapons drawn with one out of four down. Locals, he figured, of the bounty hunter type. Dutch recognized one of them.

Revy sprung from the car she used from cover, running by Rock as he held his hands over his head, around the back of his neck, running fast towards where Revy just was.

She had her dual Berettas out, tapping rounds at the van in rapid succession with Dutch and his shotgun. The other three went around the other side. A flurry of gunfire barked back at the three, and gunfire on the other side of the van went silent.

Revy and Dutch approached the back end in tandem, peering through the toppled mobile center. Through the windshield, they could see the dead bodies cut open like fish, guts and organs splayed like confetti.

They moved to the back of the van, laying eyes on a C4 charge planted on its undercarriage.

"Oh fuck!"

Revy barreled into Dutch with a tackle as their synonymous cries of shock were then deafened by an explosion.

When Revy finally pushed herself to her feet, she felt hot, streaming crimson down her left arm. Ears were shot, and Dutch had a similar problem. Blood seeping from his ears, the dark skinned man grit his teeth.

"Fuck... Glad I wore my god damn jacket."

Revy peered back at the van. It had been torn to pieces with the surrounding vehicles, this included their GTO.

"God dammit! Fucker blew our car!"

Rock rose from his hiding spot, behind a pedestrian's vehicle who had long since fled the scene on foot. Folding his arms over his chest, Rock tightened a judgmental look over his face. "Revy, I told you this was a bad idea. You almost got yourself, me, and Dutch killed!"

Dutch walked up behind Revy, slugging her in the good shoulder. It wasn't a playful punch, either, and Dutch immediately followed it up with venom laced words.

"What the fuck, Revy?! How many times do I have to tell you this is a fuckin' death trap! This guy can't be fuckin' killed, but you're so death-high you can't get enough of it!"

Revy sneered, slamming her Berettas into their respective chest holsters. "Yeah, so fuckin' what? This guy is on his last legs now, Dutch. What's he gonna do? Use a nuke to fuckin' take us all out? Hell no!"

Dutch rubbed his temple with a bruised hand, shaking his head.

"Revy, I'm not fuckin' coming next time you go after this fucker. Got it? You bring me, or Rock, or Benny into your death wish again, and I'm cutting you the fuck off."

Revy growled, but didn't make any move to Dutch. Instead, she paced over to a nearby chunk of debris and began angrily kicking it. Rock adjusted his tie, glaring at the bodies and the wreckage.

"Well. It's going to be a long walk back to the docks. Might as well start now."

Dutch scoffed, "Yeah, might as fuckin' well."


	16. The Play, Ch16

The amount of ammunition that had been spent, and blood that had been shed was record for a place as filthy as Roanapur. In one day, Frank Castle had spilled the contents of over one hundred bodies onto the ground, some of which were recognizable, and others not so much. Despite this grisly entourage, one may think it was over. Everyone would leave, or Castle would go, too.

Neither was the case.

Especially if you knew Roanapur.

Despite the calls, Revy never backed down and went astray from Dutch's commands and voluntarily joined the mock crew that had assembled at Balalaika's rally to tail the Punisher to his compound. The Russians VDV remnants had managed to track him to a warehouse rimming the northernmost edge of Roanapur.

Within the warehouse, The Punisher nursed his wounds.

The amount of equipment he lost was irritating. The only pieces he came back with were his .454 Unica, Serbu Shorty, Micro Uzi and the handgun he scavenged from inside the Triad's tower. On reflection, Castle would've kept that Hi Power. The three weapons now hung across his firearm rack, and to his right, an ad hoc setup of security cameras he used whenever a hideout like this was necessary.

However, this one was larger than most, and had more equipment than most.

It was only a matter of time before his plan, and whatever plan he had walked right into came to this location. Before him sat that same plethora of weaponry, minus a few bangers he'd brought with him to deal with the Triad and their immediate associates. There were also crates of claymores, of plastic explosive, and of fragmentation grenades he could use.

Already, The Punisher was thinking of a do all end all plan to eradicate the world of these creatures once and for all.

His appetizer would be the GM6 Lynx, a fifty caliber bullpup anti-materiel rifle that has made a name for itself on the market recently. Keeping both the Beretta 93R and Unica 6 on hand would be beneficial, and the Ruger IV would probably be stowed somewhere for emergency use like the Micro Uzi.

After all, Castle had access to one of the latest MP5A5's straight from Germany. His three main rifles seemed to be the G3A3, M4A1 and BREN 2 after the loss of his Honey Badger. Considering that the ASh 12.7 was a special purpose weapon, as was the Serbu Shorty, his last powerhouses would be the MG3, RPG and Surgeon Scalpel in 300 WinMag.

The loss of his equipment was starting to take its toll.

On backup he had that acquired L1A1 handgun and the Glock 17, so if all else fails he could dual wield like the red haired woman.

There were too many tunnels in his arm, his shoulder, and his current vest had taken one heavy beating. Already hanging off to his right, a new one with new plates, plastered with the iconic skull The Punisher has used for some time now.

But now there were more pieces to the puzzle to solve. As he expected, so many of the players in Roanapur were far more than they seemed. The Punisher would have to change his plans in the end.

* * *

_**Staging Area, Twenty Minutes from The Punisher's Warehouse**_

**_One Hour Later_**

To say Balalaika was eager to meet her most monumental opponent was fact. Again, it seemed he evaded them. Shelling the church with him inside it didn't work, and chasing Castle up the Triad's tower, and out of it didn't work either. Frank Castle was as unkillable as the legends told her, and the body count; from the Italians, to the Irish, Mexicans, and Eastern Europeans back in New York were beginning to make sense.

She, and the rest of her troops, have never faced a greater enemy worth their full attention.

And that full attention she would give him.

Jadarowsky and Seminov were ready with two full squads of twelve men each, with Boris at her side and Mikael on comms, everything was coming full circle.

"Yo sis, the rest of the goons are here, when we moving out?"

The familiar grungy voice came from none other than Revy, or Two Hand as her nickname came to Balalaika's mind. Her steely blue eyes switched to Revy. She must have been staring a bit too long, as Revy waved her hand across her line of sight.

"Sis, you trackin' what i'm sayin'?"

Balalaika blinked, offering a mere nod, turning back to the oak board before them. "I hear you, Revy. Our plan is almost done." Parading to the Russian's side, Revy, gripped the thick belt over her waist, hunching over, staring at the board.

"Oh? Looks like gibberish to me."

Of course; it was all in Russian. Narrow eyes fell over Revy, who was busy staring at the board, then they fell back to it. "Allow me to translate-" Balalaika took a wooden stick, punching it into a circled word, of which had pointed lines directed to a topographical overview of the warehouse they were going to assault.

"The populous will push in from the Western side, coming from the other industrial buildings." Her stick swapped, pointing to a second circled phrase, which had similar arrows pointing to the warehouse. "From the opposite side, me and my men will advance through the foliage and into the building as the others distract Castle."

"Ah, gotcha. What's unfinished about it?"

Placing the stick in both hands, like a teacher, Balalaika shifted her gaze to Revy.

"You, Rebecca. Where will you go?"

Taking a hand to her chin, Revy rubbed it for a few moments. "Well, those dumb-asses can work with themselves. But i'll go with them, why the hell not?"

Like a seal on her fate, Balalaika blinked, acknowledging Revy's statement and looking to Boris. With some nonverbal acceptance, Boris stepped close and pinned a dart into the sect coming in from the industrial district.

"We expect the most of this group to be killed within the first few minutes of fighting," Boris began, "If you can shift the tide, and give Castle enough a headache, our mission will execute smoother."

Balalaika nodded in some manner of concurrence.

"Precisely. We move out in ten minutes. That is all."

Revy arched back, an eyebrow cocking at Balalaika. "Wait, so I don't get to kill this guy? What the fuck, sis?"

Balalaika's gaze fell onto Revy again; "Revy, understand that far too many of my," She paused, "Of our comrades have fallen. If you happen to get to Castle first, then so be it. But the end goal is the same. He dies, preferably by our hands."

"Once this conflict is over, so is Roanapur, no matter the outcome. We've made international headlines already, which is exactly what we didn't want."

Revy huffed as Balalaika turned, not allowing a word from the red haired woman. Setting her hands on her dual Berettas, she simply watched. _So Roanapur is fucked? Great. Wonder where the hell Dutch is gonna take us next. Guess it's the Philippines, or somewhere else in Thailand._

Turning to the group of Roanapur's Finest, she felt a bit of pain in her chest without the three there. Sawyer, Lotton and Shenhua. All killed by Castle, who she was gonna kill next. But that big guy with the minigun was there, at least.

Were there more? Sure, but the big guy was all Revy cared to recognize. Faces flowed in and out over the past twenty or so years, and it was surprising many stuck around as long as they did.

The thought passed, and she waltzed over.

Another thing to consider as they readied to take on The Punisher in his homestead - for once, it felt like they'd finally get the upper hand. Something in the back of Revy's head told her Chang probably felt the same way with his troves of goons.

No time for that.

* * *

_**Lagoon Co. Office**_

The faint pang of cigar smoke mixed with the staunch scent of cigarette smoke, the resulting smoky haze giving both Rock and Dutch a bit of a stomach ache. Though both were lifelong smokers, it didn't help one bit that they'd been like this all day. Rock had his business shirt unbuttoned, faintly stained with the smoke he'd been exhaling from his lungs, and Dutch was missing his flak jacket in turn for his typical sleeveless tee.

Both had some form of liquor in their off hands.

Benny was off with Jane, and had been for some time now. Secure in some safe house that Dutch and Rock should have taken the offer on when they could have. But since then they'd moved, and with Roanapur becoming a wasteland thanks to none other than Frank Castle, Dutch and Rock were to move, too.

"Well," Dutch began, a puff of smoke escaping him, "Guess this is it for Roanapur. Forty... No, fifty years and it finally came down. What a bitch."

It was from nowhere, but Rock wasn't complaining. A nod produced from the Japanese man, who like Dutch, Benny and Revy, were aged into the middle of their lifespan. Something unprecedented, though Dutch was certainly older than the bunch.

"What next?"

Rock asked idly, like it had an easy answer. It could have been rhetorical, but Dutch didn't take it that way, his eyes settling on Rock through his lenses.

"Could open up a noodle joint. You handle finances, Benny handles logistics, Revy uh... Is the bouncer-" Dutch couldn't stifle a snicker at the thought, "Which leaves me as the cook."

Rock angled his head up, staring at Dutch. A smirk was evident on him. "Revy said Eda said something similar a while ago." A laugh, though brief, escaped from Dutch. "Oh really? That's something, ain't it?"

The moment hung in the air for a few more moments. Both drank a bit more, let out a few more puffs of smoke, but their thoughts wavered much more than they let on. Eventually, Rock broke the ice as he swallowed the last bit of some fiery, cheap liquor.

"Seriously, Dutch, where are we going after this? Further inland? The Philippines? Somewhere else?"

Dutch let the comment hang in the air as a final bit of Bacardi slithered down his throat. A sigh escaped him, and slowly, his fingers began to tap on the glass in his off hand.

"We have the papers to go pretty much anywhere third world, so the rest of Southern Asia is still very much approachable. Given the circumstances, a noodle hut inland or in the Philippines isn't a far off possibility."

Age made Rock's internal reaction a bit bitter, though part of him was okay with this. So, instead of groaning, Rock elicited a meager sigh. "We'll be the Lagoon Noodle Company... And that's that."

Dutch nodded, letting more smoke exit his lips. "Just waitin' for Revy. She don't show in a day, she's probably dead. The Punisher killed her."

A grim reality, and one that this part of him didn't want, but if it happened it couldn't be helped. The finale of this plan was coming to realization, and if Revy died as a result, so be it.

More smoke and liquor would be exchanged in the Lagoon Company offices.

* * *

_**The Punisher's Warehouse**_

_**Time of Infiltration**_

It was night time, and the group of assembled gangsters and hardmen were perched in the industrial sector as arranged. Revy had seen some setups, and this was akin to the odd one when they went after Castle the first time, and Jane way back when. More groups she hadn't seen, thanks to the fact the ones she had were likely dead by now.

Some had NVGs, some had scopes, and some had flashlights. Revy had none of that, thanks to her position by two trucks that had fifty cals on them. They would be the ones going in first to take out, or distract, The Punisher.

There would then be the groups of men moving in directly to the compound, or to shoot at whatever shot at them. However successful they'd be determined on how sharp they were. Revy suspected they'd get wasted pretty quick, judging how Castle has been plowing through everything even the Triad had been throwing at him.

Shenhua, Lotton and Sawyer weren't enough. Those mercs in the tower, the Russians at their armory, or at the night club weren't enough. It wasn't enough trying to sink him in a church, either.

Was he just unkillable?

The thought excited Revy, but she'd have to hide that until she got the chance to meet face to face with Castle to kill him herself. She brought her whole load of magazines this time, properly mounted around her short cut jeans in leather pouches on the belt.

Her cutlasses loaded, she was waiting for the go ahead.

One Russian, a soldier named Kostika was with them to keep track of their progress and direct them when needed. For some time, they waited, waited for the signal. Each one of them were eager and waiting.

Kostika put his ear to the phone in his hand, and after a few seconds, turned and nodded to the drivers of the trucks. Within moments, they were mounted and ready, with the whole group of hardmen ready to go with them.

The two technicals moved out first, with the rest of the mock platoon armed with their own rag tag assembly of rifles, sub guns and shotguns. Revy was near the back, not eager to get chewed up in the first wave of bullets that would eventually rain on the group.

Closing in, the trucks made it halfway and stopped, the two machine gunners on top sweeping their fifty cals across the wall of the warehouse. While they didn't realize it at first, the warehouse was large - more like a hangar. Two sets of upper rafters, a large central housing that had an open door directly to the industrial sector, but underneath it lay a large cellar for extra storage.

On the topmost set of rafters, a man stood by a rotating glass pane, of which was ripped out. Many of the panels were like this, and it would make no large difference with his figure. The man, skull vest bound, an RPG-7 on his shoulder, watched as the trucks chugged towards his warehouse.

Coming to a stop, they allowed more of the regular hardmen to catch up.

The Punisher flicked the trigger safety off , pulling the scope of the weapon up to his eye level, letting the tubular device point directly at the technical to the left, closest to him. Slowly, he exhaled, letting his finger depress the trigger.

The kick was nominal as the resounding discharge rang through that section of the building, its rocket propelled grenade screaming down, then impacting the engine compartment of the first truck. It went up, an explosion rocking the night sky, shrapnel shredding those within thirty feet of the vehicle.

Punisher ducked down as the other technical swirled its fifty to aim at him, the other brigands on the ground either crawling back to cover or bleeding out on the ground, shredded and cut open by the explosion's metallic accomplices.

As he moved swiftly through the darkness, he heard the fifty cal below begin to rip through the area where he was, its steady chug accompanied by the screams of those below. It didn't take long for the man on the gun to begin sweeping it across the top rafter set.

Letting the RPG hang on a shoulder strap, The Punisher gripped the rail to his right, swinging his legs over and falling down into the wider, second rafter floor as fifty caliber rounds continued through the uppermost floor.

The Punisher landed with a roll, quickly making his way to the nearest open panel. Taking another rocket from a long pouch hung off his thigh, he snaked it, then turned it within the RPG-7 he mounted on his shoulder.

With the safety off, and rocket primed, The Punisher let the reticle of the scope hang right in the center of the second truck for a moment before firing it.

Below, Revy watched with a bit of awe as another rocket streaked from the warehouse, but this time from the second rafter floor, and smashed into the technical. The following explosion tore less people in half, but there were still some wounded stragglers who caught metal shards to the guts and neck, tearing them open like flayed catfish.

The display of power seemed to force the rest of the group to hide under the cover of the buildings bordering the large section between the industrial sect and the warehouse. Some of them had weapons aimed already and began hosing rounds at the second floor; specifically where the rocket came from last.

Revy didn't expect them to get anywhere with that.

A few seconds passed, and it seemed everyone's barking guns fell silent. Risking a peek, Revy looked at the carnage. There were at least twelve bodies diced near the flaming wreckage, and with that, the two that was in each. They'd already lost sixteen men, which was about a fourth of the force they decided was the 'softener'.

Revy let a grin cross over her face.

The Punisher's work first hand was always something.

A few guys hurled themselves out over their barriers and protection, weapons trained on the second and first rafter floors like he was still up there. Revy patiently waited as they moved halfway through, and sure enough, something did happen.

On the top rafter floor, The Punisher lay prone with his GM6 Lynx, a bipod propped under the furthest forward he could mount one on the lower receiver. The scope, a 1x4 for these closer ranges, trained itself on a mongrel who wore brown fatigues like an Iraqi. Had a cheap, knock off AK too.

Slowly, The Punisher squeezed the trigger, the rifle responding with a serious kick. Its fifty caliber projectile evaporating the top half of the man's skull, letting the rest of his head splatter like a balloon over the dark pavement.

The flash hider helped conceal his position a bit, but the sound was enough to draw eyes up to the first floor.

His second target was a man in baggy jorts, a vest of some kind, and a AR platform rifle, but he couldn't really put a finger on what it was. Without a second of hesitation, The Punisher squeezed off another round, spearing through his heart and flooring the new corpse to the ground.

The others began to retreat, pitiful attempts at return fire beginning to rack the walls of the warehouse.

Letting his aim wander, The Punisher traced his reticle to the back of a fair skinned man's neck. Another trigger pull, and the man's head was flung from his body from his lack of neck to keep it there.

A rapport of 5.56 raked the area just to his right, and The Punisher shifted his aim right to see one of the guys behind the barricade ready to lay hate with an M249. With a single tap, a fifty caliber round tore through the man's skull, and with a shift, The Punisher speared a second round through his shocked assistant's chest.

Rolling over his right side, he propped himself with his right knee, then quickly broke into a jog as the rest of the criminals on the ground began to hose his old position with multitudes of bullets. Some of them began advancing, too.

Removing the spent five round magazine, The Punisher removed the spare he had in a massive taco pouch on his chest, sliding it in, then racking the charging handle to load the first of five.

Taking a stop at a open panel, he sighted the weapon in on a man in full stride coming for the warehouse. With a single tap, The Punisher punched a round straight through his diaphragm, blowing out whatever he had in his stomach out his back.

More bullets began to chase The Punisher, and he broke into another jog. Moments later, he slid to a knee, sweeping his aim through another open panel and locating a second runner. The Punisher squeezed the trigger, cleaving a round through the center of the man's skull, letting his hat flutter to the ground, and body flop as his head was promptly evaporated.

Feeling the heat, The Punisher turned, vaulting over the rail and tumbling down to the second rafter deck.

Rolling on the landing, The Punisher pulled the strap for the heavy hitting rifle off and tossed it with the empty taco pouch.

His legs carried him to the center, where under a tarp his MG3 laid in wait. Going prone, The Punisher slithered it to his shoulder, belt already loaded, safety disengaged, The Punisher took sight on the new wave of advancing, running criminals under supporting fire from their comrades.

Ripping the tarp off, he lined up the sights of the belt fed machine gun to the first target, a man in cargo shorts with a shotgun bandoleer around his body. Several more were behind the man, charging The Punisher's warehouse.

Exhaling sharply, the vested man pulled the trigger.

The MG3, a 7.62x51 derivative of the infamous MG42 ripped rounds from its interchangeable barrel at a similar, 1,200 rounds per minute. Within the first half second, The Punisher planted five full size rounds into the first target with its blistering rate of fire.

Sweeping right, he held the trigger as more rounds ripped through torsos, skulls, and legs alike - sending the limbs firing as the high rate of fire machine gun continued to roar. Releasing the trigger, he shifted his aim to a pocket of five charging on the left.

Settling the sight on the first, The Punisher held the trigger down and let the gun's recoil walk the rest of the rounds, under his control, into the other four targets. Torsos shredded and lives ended, The Punisher had halted their rush in a mere few seconds.

Pulling the weapon to the back line, he could see as several more of this ad hoc force began assembling heavier weaponry. Fifty cals, grenade launchers, and he probably saw a LAW or an RPG in there somewhere. Holding down the trigger, The Punisher swept the rest of the 200 round belt through the back line.

Multiple bodies were ripped apart, and some of the barriers didn't survive the onslaught, either. The barrel ran red, smoke puffing from its muzzle. Around the back-line, more yells and screams of anguish could be heard after the assault of lead.

Somewhere on the back line, The Punisher could see someone leveling an M79 grenade launcher to the rafter levels. Quickly, The Punisher pushed off the ground, turned, and bolted for the rungs to catapult himself down on the assembly of equipment below him.

Watching the onslaught for some time, Revy couldn't help but grin. It was like a Hollywood movie before her eyes; multiples and troves of criminals falling to the rapid fire pace of The Punisher's machine gun. Their resistance came in a single man finally pulling a grenade launcher and shooting the 40 into the rafter decks.

Before that, the sniper rifle that evaporated seven targets was something to see, too. As she thought, as she heard, seeing The Punisher do work was as invigorating as it was frightening. She hated The Punisher, but watching him work was truly something else.

After the explosion rocked the upper floor, it seemed more people pulled their own grenade launchers or rockets, shelling that top floor with the combined firepower of a small anti tank division. After the smoke and explosions died down, Revy poked her head up again to see the troves of dumb-asses rushing at the front entrance.

Again.

Did they ever learn? Probably not, but now /all/ of them were going. Throwing her legs over the barricade, she joined them in the rush like another fodder to the cannon.

The Punisher had gone deep into his hideout; to the basement.

The G3A3 was his fourth weapon he had up there, but doubted it was still in tact. A shame, since he'd had that one with him for a while. Taking the MP5A5 off the wall, he also pulled two MOLLE attached tri-pouches with three magazines in each, strapping them along the right and left lower sides of his vest. After that, the ballistic plating.

He'd assembled special gear for this particular firefight.

Looking in the mirror at himself, his shins, thighs, forearms and shoulders all had these ballistic pads typically used in heavy enforcement units or riot officers, a flak collar surrounded his neck, and a third knife was belted over his left shoulder. On his back, he had the holster for his Serbu Shorty, on his right hip, his .454 Unica, and on his left the Beretta 93R.

To wrap it all up, The Punisher's face was covered in another black ballistic mask, which also had the white skull painted on it. Wrapped around his head was a singular night vision monocular for when he shut the lights off inside this warehouse.

With his MP5 in hand, The Punisher walked over to the singular breaker panel in the basement, meant to control the electricity in the warehouse. Leveling his MP5 with it, he punched five of one hundred rounds into the panel, the lights shutting off moments after.

The Punisher had ninety five rounds left in the drum mag for his MP5, and each begged to find their home in the chest cavity of one of these cretin.

On their way in, Revy saw one of them get evaporated by a trip mine, and it painted the entrance red with the blood and guts of that unfortunate soul. Well, if he had a soul, she expected few still did. She was with the largest group, as one smaller group had split up to move into the munitions area while her directed group moved through aisles of old machinery parts.

It was about as high as the rafters, and if The Punisher survived the explosion, he very easily could have climbed down from these.

The chatter of the guys around her indicated that they were somewhat aware of that, but Revy stayed silent, her wolfish eyes prowling the areas around her with dual Cutlass Berettas levied just in front of her.

She heard one of the guys yell something, and it drew her head over. A crate - a large one at that, was stuffed with plastic explosives.

Making her way over, she shoved one out of the way, "Let me see this shit-"

Inside the crate, multiple bars of C4 were wired together, linked to wires that were coming from a circle cut into the bottom of the crate, the wires running into the pipes and concrete below their feet.

"Shit."

Revy managed before muffled gunshots echoed from the nearest staircase. However, before she could contemplate what was about to happen, the lights went off. A string of curses came from almost every one of them, with Revy being the loudest as some began to fumble for flashlights.

However, a couple black clad mercenaries had flashlights on their M4's and AK5C's, quickly sweeping through the area with the bright, white beams.

An assault of gunfire came from her left, but with the instinctive draw and aim of her Berettas, found nothing.

A few yells came from over in the munitions depot, and as more men poured in, more gunshots began to ring through the warehouse.

"That's the fuckin' Punisher, get over there!" Revy shouted, her legs carrying her as fast as her words left her mouth, several others on her heels, hungry for the fight.

The Punisher had wasted four of the gangsters before they saw him coming. The NVG Monocular was doing well, and from this position, the flash hider was doing work in keeping him concealed.

Two more unsuspecting cretin crossed their corpses, and with two bursts, The Punisher drilled three slugs in each person. Moving right, he shimmied his figure over a small crate, then laid prone as five more of them wandered into a small opening between shelves and crates. They were looking for where The Punisher had just come from, and judging from their panicked yells, they had no clue.

Rising to a knee, The Punisher lined up his MP5A5 with the closest one and let his MP5 rip. Walking the automatic through the first two targets, the others turned and berated the area around The Punisher with a mixture of small arms fire.

Sweeping his weapon, more slugs caught the three others, putting them down.

The Punisher rose, stepping forward over their corpses and through the small alley they came through. Letting the muzzle of his gun lead, he weaved his way through until The Punisher emerged into an opening where several of the criminals were trying to figure out what was going on.

A few of them began turning on flashlights, sweeping them around.

Quickly, The Punisher began to rail off rounds at the shoulder while moving deftly to the left, cutting through multiple of the hardmen as they scrambled to return fire. A flashlight swept over The Punisher, blinding him through the NVG.

Shutting his right eye, he turned and leaped over a crate as gunfire began to trail him, rolling and laying prone behind said crate. Switching his hold, The Punisher pulled his MP5 to the left shoulder, dropping the drum and slotting in a fresh 30 round magazine.

Pulling the NVG gear off his head, The Punisher shook it left to right as more staccato raked the area around him and the crate.

Taking an M82 Stun grenade off his vest, The Punisher moved to a crouch and hurled it backwards, over the crate. Once it landed, a quick report of panic spread through the criminals and mercenaries just before it exploded, bathing those around it in intense light and a concussive, disabling wave.

Springing up left just of the crate, The Punisher set his sights on the first of the stumbling victims.

Tapping the trigger, his MP5 ripped four rounds through the man before he switched targets, tapping two to four round bursts in target after target as they tried recuperating, firing their guns in wily arrays with no purchase.

His MP5A5 ran dry just as a shot whipped by him. Turning left, The Punisher could make out figures rapidly approaching him from the deep shelves and aisles that held machinery parts. A few of them had flashlights, too, and were pulling them up to aim at him.

Among them was a certain red haired woman he'd seen before.

Dropping the MP5A5 to his chest, The Punisher drew his .454 Unica, pinning its sights on the closest target; one of the black clad mercs with a light. Tapping the trigger, the powerful round kicked the man on the floor, plates or not.

Another assault of rounds began to kick up around him, and he felt something hit his vest, almost causing him to stumble.

Taking to his left, The Punisher broke into a sprint as he held the revolver out, punching a second round into some gangster with an AK taking aim at him, hitting the man in the chest and spinning him into a rack.

Quickly, he peeled left, ripping a fragmentation grenade off his chest, pulling the pin with his thumb, then chucking it behind him at the racks.

As The Punisher entered another mess of crates, the frag erupted, tearing a hole in the machinery racks and several of the mercs.

Once within the dark tombs of the crates, The Punisher shoved the Unica in its holster, took the MP5 off his chest and quickly began to change out the magazines; pulling the handle back, rocking it in the notch, then pulling a magazine from its pouch, hitting the magazine release paddle with his thumb and yanking the old one out.

Pushing the new one in, The Punisher quickly rose his hand and slapped the catch, loading the first of thirty rounds.

Turning around, The Punisher waited for the first slew of them to follow him.

Within the darkness, figures surged into the opening The Punisher was in. Knelt, he quickly began firing rounds into the shadows that pushed in, dropping them left and right in a deadly spray.

Somewhere from above, a figure lined up a flashlight on the black clad vigilante, firing a burst that clipped his forearms, hit his chest, and destroyed his sub-machine gun.

Quickly, Punisher dropped his left shoulder, sprung off his legs and combat rolled into another corridor, hot lead trailing his feet along the way. Within the corridor, he ripped the MP5A5 off his person, then pulled the Serbu off his back.

Stepping left, The Punisher hid just in the nook left of another opening. Footsteps followed his, and a black clad mercenary with a flashlight lead stepped into the opening. Pushing the barrel of the Shorty to the man's temple - his helmet - The Punisher pulled the trigger to the twelve gauge.

In a brief flash, the man's brains were evacuated from his skull and painted over the wall behind him.

Someone else pushed from behind, shoving the corpse out of the way and spraying rounds through the room. Stepping forward as the person was mid spray, The Punisher whipped his right leg up, kicking through the man's knee and snapping it.

Stepping back, looking down at the gawking man, The Punisher racked the shotgun and blew a chunk out the side of the man's skull with another round of twelve gauge.

As he pumped the shotgun again, noises above him drew his attention. From above, that red haired woman; Revy, had both of her handguns pointed down at The Punisher. Levying his shotgun up, the Punisher was ready to punch a shell in her.

But in just the same time, someone around the corner came with their own twelve gauge, punching a shell straight into Punisher's vest, sprawling him backwards into an aisle, sending his Shorty scattering somewhere along the dark floor.

Revy lowered her handguns and let them bark as the dark shape of Castle quickly ducked to his left. The man with the 1187, who she knew personally, was quickly flanked by that big Russian with a minigun. It spun, tearing 7.62's through aisle and crates alike after the deceptively quick Punisher.

She heard her shots hit him, but they were all in that excessive amount of frightening padding the man was wearing.

Hissing as the man ducked into another aisle, Revy dropped the magazines to both of her Berettas, taking two from her belt and beginning to slide them to each magwell. "God fuckin' dammit, Jericho, I told your stupid ass to shoot him in the fucking head!"

"Sorry, Revy, that fucker scared me!"

Scoffing, she hit the slide releases to both Berettas. "Yeah, okay, what the fuck ever. Keep moving!"

Leaping across the top of aisles, Jericho and the minigun Russian. quickly weaved through the aisles as two more of those black clads backed them up. Revy made the shape of Punisher pulling something from a crate, a new assembly of wear already on his chest.

"Over here!"

Her shout raised his head, and Revy quickly answered by letting her Berettas chatter at the man. Nine mils tore up the area around Punisher, and he visibly recoiled in the darkness, falling backwards into a crate, then rolling off his left.

Revy began moving left, but The Punisher was one step ahead there, drawing whatever he had in his hands and letting a slow, beefy rate of fire tear at her. One round grazed her, and more rounds hit Punisher, toppling him over.

But whatever he was using spun Revy around and sent her crashing down into a separate alleyway.

"Son of a bitch-" The Punisher growled to himself, taking a knee. Those nine mils had raked his body armor, from his forearms to his shoulders, face and chest. The mask was definitely destroyed, as two nine mils had clipped it in that brief duel.

Raising his hand from the fore-end of the ASh 12.7, he pulled off the mask, letting it fall to the concrete as a fresh stream of blood streaked down the side of his head.

Dropping to a knee, he fished the colossal suppressor for this weapon from the crate, spinning and locking it on quickly just before four of those mercenaries came through.

Luckily, The Punisher was in a blind spot.

Raising the suppressed ASh 12.7, he punched a single 12.7x55 round through the shotgun user's chest, switched targets and let another round walk through the skull of the first black clad mercenary.

The big man with the minigun hollered something in Russian Punisher didn't know, sweeping his 7.62 barrels of death across in a shredding assault.

Bolting to his left, The Punisher ducked into an aisle before he was caught in its spray.

Stumbling from the side aisle that Revy fell into, she came up to the opening Jericho and that unnamed merc fell in. Checking the catastrophe around her, a burning sensation was still eating at her arm. She'd already wrapped a makeshift bandage around her left tricep.

"God dammit," Revy growled, taking her spot behind the big Russian man with the minigun, "Whatever the hell that thing is can fuck off." Looking down at the corpses below them, she emanated an annoyed grunt.

"We gotta kill this bastard. There's more in here, let's regroup."

Before the others could nod in affirmative, multiple explosives from breaching charges began to rake the various exits and doors in the rear of the compound. A smirk spread across Revy's, the minigun man's, and the merc's face.

The Russians had just arrived.

* * *

**[Author's Note]**

_**Meme Man here. Glad to see that this was still being read over my four months of absence. I had deployment troubles, but i found some time and muse to continue this again! I intend on completing "Roanapur's Bane" in the next two chapters, so stay tuned and thank you for waiting! I hope you enjoyed the murder porn, there's more on the way.**_


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